Deep in the heart of the greatest chocolate factory, a young boy opened a door to find the man he most admired was not his usual self. Charlie Bucket, the luckiest and most good-natured of children, trod softly towards the still form of Mr Wonka.
The chocolatier lay sprawled on his 'Shrink Couch', his face buried into the seat, hat pulled over his eyes. Nearby, an Oompa Loompa (one of Mr Wonka's employees from a rare species of tiny people) was sitting in a plush armchair and scribbling on a clipboard.
"How long has he been like this?" little Charlie whispered to the even smaller man.
The Oompa Loompa made a circling motion and tapped his arm three times.
"Three days?" the boy said, alarmed. He shuffled over to his friend who had not moved since he entered. "Mr Wonka, are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Charlie," came the muffled reply. "The rootinest-tootinest. You run along now an' I-I'll see you in the morning."
"Mr Wonka, it is the morning."
The chocolatier sat bolt upright, an expression of sadness stamped on his features. He gaped at Charlie.
"Already?" he sniffled. "Then it's today that you -."
"Me and my family go on holiday, yes," Charlie replied with a hint of woe. "You can still change your mind and come with us. France is a nice country, it really is."
"No it's okay," said William. "I know I said it was because they were all weird over there that I won't go, but I just don't wanna leave the factory, ya know?"
Charlie nodded. He understood as much as anyone could that this factory was as much a part of Mr Wonka as the man's own arms. It protected him. It loved him. It was the outer shell he did not physically possess. It was a wonder that the outside world did not break the poor man in half – unless it already had.
"Mr Wonka," Charlie added, "the factory's not been running so well lately. You've not been doing your checks and I'm not tall enough to reach the buttons on the machines. Some of your Oompa Loompas are even taking days off because they can't work the Inventing Room without you."
William sighed.
"All right then, I'll get started again today."
Charlie stepped forward and tipped the chocolatier's face so he could glare in his eyes.
"Mr Wonka, you're not on drugs are you?"
Mr Wonka jerked back.
"What? No! I just don't feel so hot, 'kay? What makes you think I'd do something as stupid as that?"
Charlie raised an eyebrow.
"I found out what you feed the sheep."
"Jeez, that was an accident!" the chocolatier protested.
"Okay, well just don't keep on worrying us like this," the ten-year-old sighed. He hugged Mr Wonka.
The socio-phobic chocolatier didn't even flinch.
Charlie stepped back and frowned.
"Is this about a girl?"
William looked down at the floor.
"Please don't mumble Charlie, you know it freaks me out…" he muttered.
"It is about a girl!" the little boy cried, a friendly grin spreading cheek to cheek. "What's she like?"
"I don't like a girl!" Mr Wonka spluttered. "I mean, ew! They're icky and really really mean, and they have stupid hair, and they're a stupid shape, and they take everything you say the totally wrong way!"
"All right," said Charlie. "Then we'll see you soon as we get back, and I'll send you a postcard."
"Okay." William tried to hide the despair in his tone.
Charlie stopped beside the armchair as he made his way out and leant down to whisper to the Oompa Loompa psychiatrist.
"Please help him get better," he said.
The Oompa Loompa patted Charlie's arm and winked at him.
As the youngest owner of the chocolate factory left the room, Mr Wonka glanced at the small, orange-toned man in the chair with suspicion. It smiled back at him devilishly and rubbed its hands together.
William winced and lay back down on the chaise-longue. Without further thought, he tipped his hat over his eyes once more and drifted into sleep.