2 A Weird Prophecy

After the finding of the second ticket the world became even madder. For a week nobody spoke about almost anything else. People (mainly females) talked about the event to complete strangers in public transport and waiting rooms and tried to guess who the next finder will be and what she will be like. Men suffered this fuss, though pretending that they didn't care about it at all; but still felt alert when their wives, girlfriends and daughters wished to own one of those tickets. "It's not Wonka," women lied bravely, "but the candy!" and men believed them every word for this was what they secretly wanted to hear. There were only a few cases of divorcing and bodily harm but really only a few. The event had its fans as well as its opposers and because many things still stayed hidden, everybody made up their own theory which was perfectly right. In pubs there still ruled mainly the spirit of football and politics. "Give me a rest with that competition", "I don't care at all" and "I have other things to think about than some tickets" – these were frequent male reactions. But they might have concealed only envy.

Matt really kept his word. He came to Cheryl and handed her the chocolate, saying, "Here is your future."

"Thanks," said Cheryl and tore off the wrapper. She peered at the plain bar of chocolate. "My inner eye can see my future is only bare and empty," she said dramatically. Matt looked a bit disappointed. "Oh, sorry. Bad luck."

"It's OK, bro, didn't you expect anything to be there?" she asked. "Anyway, thanks for the chocolate. Here," she snapped it into two pieces and handed him one. He took it, nodded and hurried out because there was a friend waiting for him.

Next day when Cheryl went to work, she took a different route because she had to go to the post office. Crossing the road, she noticed one of the information posters which by some chance escaped the Wonka fans' attention. Cheryl hesitated for a while, but then she took it with her. In the library she stuck it to the wall so the readers are able to see it but nobody can take it away. The results came very soon.

"Do you sell it here?" asked the first comer, a sixteen-year-old girl. "My friend has got it and I can't get it anywhere. There are no more in the city." Smiling, Cheryl set her right and took books from her.

"This Wonka guy is everywhere," murmured a middle-aged man.

"Good thing," beamed a lady right behind him in the queue and gazed at the photo. The man shook his head and looked glumly on the ground. Cheryl thought that there should be a Pamela Anderson poster next to Wonka's.

Cheryl's colleagues welcomed the image (some with open envy); her boss, though, had a different opinion. "We are not a confectionery," he objected. Cheryl told him that only the presence of the poster has a positive impact on the readers and thus improves atmosphere of the working place. It is also possible that they will have more visitors because it attracts attention these days. Her colleagues supported her. The boss said it is her problem but in case of complaints he knows who will take the responsibility. Cheryl took it, but didn't understand much. Why should it matter to anyone?

On Wednesday afternoon Amy, Cheryl and their friend Deborah were sitting in "Grenadin", their favourite confectionery, and talked over Amy's wedding. Deborah was to become Amy's witness because she was a Rosebays' family friend since their childhood.

"The dress will be light violet with silver trimming," said the bride-to-be with pride. "It looks lovely, in two weeks it will be ready. You must come and have a look."

"Sure," agreed Deborah. "Will Rick be in violet too?"

"No, he's going to have a black tail-coat"

"Very festive," appreciated Deborah. "How many people will be there?"

"Just a few," replied Amy and started to count. "Me and Rick, mum, dad, Cheryl, Matt, Clarissa – Matt wouldn't do without her –, you, Henry, Uncle Tony with his family, Uncle Gene and Aunt Paula, Wally, Fiona, Leslie... who did I forget? Well, of course, Rick's family and friends."

"A few people you say?"

"About fifty or so."

"It's not a small number." Deborah took a sip of her cocktail. "And when are you going to get married, Cheryl?"

"Dunno, I don't think about it."

"You have nobody to marry, right?"

"She will marry when she finds the golden ticket," Amy laughed.

Deborah suddenly sprang up. "Excuse me," she spoke to a lady who was just buying a Wonka bar at the counter. "I'm doing a survey. Why are you buying this bar?"

The lady looked bewildered. "Because I like the nutty one most of all."

"Why this particular brand?"

"It's the best of course," replied the lady like there was nothing plainer and was about to leave.

"So not because of the competition?" Deborah wanted to know.

"No. I'm not interested in that. Goodbye."

Deborah went back to the table. She acted like this now and then but that belonged to her journalist job. "I will have a word with a few more," she said and made a note to her notebook. "We have a busy time in the office. If it wasn't for the Wonka contest, we'd probably have a dead season. May I ask you too, ladies?"

"About what?" said Amy.

"Why do you buy Wonka's chocolate?"

"We don't," said Cheryl, perplexed.

"Don't you tell me that you haven't bought any since the beginning of the contest," asked Deborah.

"You know - I haven't," said Cheryl thoughtfully.

"One of my colleagues buys them every day, she's got a thing for Wonka," continued Deborah. Both friends nodded. "Her husband is going mad of it."

"You should write about this, Debbie," Cheryl suggested. "The title could be, 'Wonka's unfortunate idea strikes our society's family life' – no, that is too long."

"Okay," said Deborah but dashed to the counter where she had seen another victim.

Deborah offered to see both sisters home. Walking past a station, they heard a voice, "Girls, girlies, please!" It was an elderly gipsy woman. "Got any change?"

"Sorry," Amy shrugged and tried to get away. She was afraid of this kind of people.

"I will tell you your fortune, do you want to know your future?" smiled the gipsy. Deborah, to a great surprise to the sisters agreed. "Ok, why not?" She held out her hand. The woman grinned, looked in her palm and said, "Don't toy too much, girlie, someone will be after you. But you can get away if you are cautious."

"Don't you want to be more specific?" said Deborah calmly. The woman shook her head.

"Can't see anything more there. And what about you, dear?" she grabbed Amy by the hand. Amy shuddered, but stood still. "You're ruining your luck," mumbled the gipsy and without further comments looked in Cheryl's hand. She gazed for a while and then burst into laughter.

"What is it?" demanded Cheryl.

"Someone will hate you greatly," she told her the cruel truth. Cheryl made a face at Deborah.

"Won't you tell me who, will you?" she tried but the gipsy chuckled, just shrugged and made her way off.

"That's really funny," said Cheryl, open-mouthed. "I wonder you have the nerve for it, Debbie. She's an old liar."

"Rather a good psychologist," Deborah corrected her. "She can estimate people, then she tells some nonsense and everybody can find themselves in there. Look at me – it quite fits; journalists like me are always halfway into trouble."

"What does it mean? Ruining my luck..." pondered Amy. "Is it related to Rick somehow?"

"My goodness," Cheryl shook with her. "You won't believe her. She just made a guess and now you would fret over it? Isn't it silly? Say, who can hate me greatly?"

"That's true, everybody likes you," said Amy but for the rest of the way she was silent.