A/N: Hello everybody! This is it: the chapter that explains everything. I think from now on the 'mood' of this story will be a little different; Wonka without the factory is like a chocolate cornetto without the chocolate bit at the bottom! Anyway, just a few responses to my lovely, wonderful, fantastic reviewers:
Quill in Hand: Hmm, I'm afraid the depressing bit isn't over just yet. But hopefully it will soon take a slightly lighter tone, despite the situation Mr Wonka finds himself in. And it'll all be down to Charlie... anyway, what am I doing telling you what'll happen? Get on and read it! Have fun!
Maleficent Angel: You know, you clever people are very annoying. And, um, I read in your profile that you teach science, so I apologise in advance if next chapter my facts get a bit, um, unrealistic. Thanks for the review!
Drazzles: I'm a little worried by your review. But don't worry, puppy dog eyes always do the trick, so here is chapter five!
sharylsward: How it ends? Agh, that may be a while away! Many thanks for your review.
whitestorm11: Many thanks. I am, as always, glad to spread cheer!
The Lady of Light: Well, with a review like that I can hardly not continue! Many thanks; I hope you enjoy this next chapter, despite the notable absence of a certain chocolatier. (I felt a bit weird writing the first line you quoted, since at fourteen I can hardly call myself an 'adult', but there you go!)
boogle: Your wish is my command!
Well, go on, read – and enjoy, mon petit copains!
Chapter Five
It had been three days since Mr Wonka had gone away, and Charlie was feeling blue. He was, in fact, literally blue – he had got in the way of a machine that squirted out blue liquid and it had stained a patch of skin on his hand. The Oompa Loompas had said it would come out in the wash...
The factory seemed so much quieter without Mr Wonka around. Even the Chocolate River seemed to gurgle with a little less merriment. The Oompa Loompas were silent, and not a single snatch of song came from their lips. They hadn't even touched the Buttergin since Mr Wonka had left, which made Charlie suspect they knew more than they let on about the reason for Mr Wonka's absence.
Charlie was sure Mr Wonka had been lying when he had said he was going away to research new tastes for candy. This was because Mr Wonka, like any self-respecting child, was a terrible liar. When he had told Charlie the reason for his leaving he had addressed the floor rather than Charlie himself, and his hands had darted around like a pair of guilty birds.
Then what on earth could be the matter? Charlie was a bright boy for his age, but that didn't mean he could claim to understand the antics of adults. Chocolate, now that was something he could understand.
It felt very strange, being in the factory without Mr Wonka. He knew that whilst Mr Wonka was away the factory was his to explore – and look after. That, as far as Charlie was concerned, was a very frightening thought. He couldn't let Mr Wonka down...
An Oompa Loompa suddenly tugged at his leg, jerking him from his reverie. Charlie looked down, to see that the little man was holding out an envelope – an envelope addressed to him.
Charlie took it wordlessly and watched as the Oompa Loompa scurried away over the river and out of sight. He glanced down at the envelope, knowing as soon as he looked at it who it was from, for there was a gold, elegant 'W' in the right-hand corner where a stamp would normally be. The address read thus:
Charlie Bucket
The House
The Chocolate Room
Charlie's Chocolate Factory
Cherry Lane
Charlie smiled slightly at this, before hesitantly flipping the envelope over and tearing it open. He pulled out a piece of paper, and grinned as the scent of melting chocolate puffed out to greet him. The handwriting on the page, however, was not Mr Wonka's usual extravagant script. If anything, it was rather shaky.
His hands trembling, he lifted the letter up to his eyes.
Dearest Charlie, it read,
I do hope you are getting on alright at the factory. Not that I need to do so, as I am sure you will be getting along just fine. You are a good boy, you know that, don't you, Charlie?
I must admit, Charlie, that I was not exactly telling the truth when I said I was going exploring.
"Hah!" Charlie exclaimed, but the triumphant grin faded as he continued to read.
The truth is, I fear that you may be inheriting the factory a little sooner than expected. I cannot give you the whys and wherefores, as they are silly little details and would only confuse you anyway. I have, however, sent a letter to your parents in explanation. I believe they will know better than I how to tell you what it is I need to say.
Godspeed, Charlie Bucket. Watch out for the whangdoodles!
Your friend and fellow chocolatier,
Willy Wonka.
Charlie sat down, the letter going limp in his hands. It is a rare and terrible thing for the bottom to fall out of a child's world, but fall it had for Charlie Bucket when he read that letter.
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The message sent to Charlie's parents was of a much different tone. It was not, in fact, addressed to Mr or Mrs Bucket at all – the name on the envelope was Grandpa George's.
The old man had grunted in surprise when he had been handed the letter, but Mrs Bucket was quick to notice the grave expression that came over his face.
"Oh, dear." He muttered to himself. "Oh dear, dear me." He was holding in his hand two pieces of paper – one printed and one handwritten.
Mr Bucket turned to his father in concern, laying down the newspaper he had been reading.
"What is it, Pops?" Then he caught sight of the large golden 'W' on the envelope. "Is that from Mr Wonka?" His father nodded. Charlie was outside at that moment, opening a similar envelope.
"Indeed it is." He said solemnly. Then, wordlessly, he handed Mr Bucket the printed sheet. Mr Bucket's face slowly drained of colour as he read that fateful letter – the very same letter that had pre-empted Mr Wonka's sudden departure.
"Oh dear." He said, swallowing.
"That's what I said." Grandpa George responded emotionlessly, as Mrs Bucket lent over her husband's shoulder and read the letter. Grandma Josephine frowned as her daughter gasped and clasped at her heart.
"What is it, girl? Come on, don't leave us old ones out... let me and Joe see."
"Joe and I." Grandpa Joe corrected, but he too looked grave as he read the letter. When he had finished he sighed. "What on earth will we tell Charlie?"
"The truth." His daughter responded instantly, but Grandpa George coughed. They all looked at him. He coughed once more and held up the second sheet.
"The boy – Wonka – wants us to keep it a secret from Charlie – I don't know, tell him in a kinder way. He certainly doesn't want to see Charlie – or, rather, for Charlie to see him." He did his best to sound nonchalant, but it was obvious to the others, especially the old ones, that he was worried. If truth be told, grumpy old Grandpa George had become somewhat attached to the eccentric chocolatier over the past few months.
"Poor Mr Wonka." Mrs Bucket said softly, picking up the printed letter once more. "This is why he's been looking so awful for the past few weeks. What are we to do?"
Mr Bucket sighed, taking the second letter from Grandpa George and raising his eyebrows as he read it. He shook his head.
"Listen to this: I do not want you or Charlie to come to see me as it may upset Charlie and this would be detrimental to his candy-making... Goodness, does everything that man do revolve around candy?" He smiled slightly, but sobered at the expression on his father's face.
"Don't be a fool, boy. Wonka is only saying that because he doesn't know what else to say." He turned his gaze towards Mrs Bucket. "And as for what we are to do, surely that's obvious?" He scowled, but there was no harshness behind it. "We take Charlie to Mr Wonka. The man loves the boy, and I can't say I blame him. It's the only thing we have in common. Charlie loves Mr Wonka as well – as far as the boy's concerned Mr Wonka is his best friend. And when something like this happens, friends should stick together."
No one spoke. They didn't need to. Grandpa George, who had spent most of his life grumpily and quietly getting by, had just put into words the most important thing of all.
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Now would seem the pertinent time to enlighten the reader, who has until this point been rather 'out-of-the-loop'. As we have already said, Mr Wonka's health was not what it should have been. Illness, after conveniently avoiding him for forty years, had decided to strike with all its cruelty.
You may already have guessed that Mr Wonka had not, as he told Charlie, left the factory to go 'exploring'. He was, in fact, at the moment at which we left the Bucket household, in hospital. But let us not pity Mr Wonka; due to a mix up on the wards he had been placed in a bed in the children's ward, and what better to support the fainting spirit of adulthood than the laughter and smiles of childhood?
The first letter, which you will now have surmised to come from the hospital, detailed his diagnosis. The first time he left the factory had been for a doctor's appointment – a thing he had put off for far too long. The diagnosis had been delivered by letter as he had requested it, to avoid leaving the factory again. But it was a thing he could not avoid: the letter stated in no uncertain terms that, if he held his own life in any value at all, he would come to the hospital on the date appointed.
The second letter, written by Mr Wonka himself, had explained all this to Grandpa George. Why he had chosen the old grumbler we shall never know, but perhaps the fondness Grandpa George had come to have for Mr Wonka was mutual. Whatever the reason, the letter told the old man that he was not, under any circumstances, to let Charlie come to the hospital to visit him. Mr Wonka, in his desperate desire to protect Charlie from pain, was acting more grown-up than he ever had in his life.
And so we have it. What is to happen next? Well, for that you must wait, my friends. But while you do, spare a thought for the bravery of Mr Wonka. He needed Charlie more than ever: but simply to spare him a few tears he forbade his presence. Surely that is worthy of the title 'valour'.
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A/N: Well, there you go. Please tell me what you think!