4 Truth Will Come Out
Deborah wanted to be the first to inform the world about the finding of the fourth ticket, so she besought everyone not to talk about it anywhere; they promised. The other day, when she didn't have to go to work anyway, Cheryl visited Debbie in the editor's office for she promised her an interview. She was happy that it will be her best friend who will write about her; she could be quite sure Debbie will not make up any lies. She also hoped to meet Mrs Storm. They headed to her office first.
"Good morning, Madeleine," greeted Deborah. "This is my friend Cheryl; she wishes to talk to you. But first I want to ask where your husband works." Mrs Storm looked a bit bewildered. "He's the head of the city library," she said. "Why do you want to know that?"
"I think truth will come out soon," Deborah winked at Cheryl. "I'll wait for you outside," she added and disappeared.
"Sit down, please. What do you need?" asked Mrs Storm.
"My name is Cheryl Rosebay, is it known to you?" Mrs Storm shook her head.
"I know that you inquire into the Wonka's ticket contest," she looked round Mrs Storm's office which was stuffed with photos of Wonka, the first three winners and even more newspaper clippings.
"Oh yes, it is my job," said Mrs Storm, pleased.
"I am very interested in Willy Wonka," said Cheryl. "I can see you have the poster too," she pointed at the familiar picture. "Please, tell me what Mr Wonka is like."
"You can read it anywhere in the press, why should I repeat it to you now?" said Mrs Storm with a sign of distrust.
"It's because I have a very good reason to know everything," said Cheryl and pulled the golden ticket out of her handbag.
"My goodness, it's Wonka's golden ticket!" gasped the journalist, covering her mouth with both hands.
"Do you know it's a bit due to your husband, too?"
"I don't understand how these are connected?" Mrs Storm wondered. Cheryl told her story in brief and added, "Please, tell him one thing – I will be most pleased to hang up the poster above my bed."
In no time a tumult started in the office. Cheryl suddenly found herself in the middle of cameras and microphones, bombarded with questions so she didn't know which to answer first. When she realized being a bit of a celebrity now she shuddered but the attention wasn't unpleasant either.
As soon as Deborah finished her article, she showed it to Cheryl. "Read, your future may depend on it." Cheryl dived into reading about her yesterday's dismissal because of Wonka.
"It's wonderful, Debbie, lovely," she beamed. "I am happy that you put it this way, like it really was; otherwise people could make a misinterpretation."
Deborah was content. "My pleasure. Let me just tell you something: the journalist's rule is 'Write what you want any way you want, but there will always be a misinterpretation.' People will regard you almost as a martyr and will support you."
"I wonder what happens with Storm."
"I'm not through with him yet," said Deborah darkly.
Cheryl spent her afternoon in the pleasant company of Mrs Storm, talking the case over and over. She also tried to find all information about the chocolate factory, chocolate and everything related. It was a very illuminating and enjoyable day.
After coming home Cheryl followed her ex-boss's advice and tacked the poster of Wonka above her bed. She sat down in a facing armchair, surveyed the picture and pondered over everything that happened that day. When she was telling Mrs Storm in the morning that she was interested in Wonka, she said it only to attract attention. Now it is different, but yesterday she was completely unconcerned about him. Or was she only trying to persuade herself, because she didn't count on finding any ticket, so in order not to be too disappointed? Well, it doesn't matter now. She is one of the five possible spouses and – when she overviewed the current state, she stood a good chance. It remains to be seen what the last one will be like.
She looked at the instructions on her golden ticket again – for the thirtieth time, it seemed – and it was only now she had time to think them over properly. All of them are requested to come to the factory front gates on Friday, 15th April at exactly ten o'clock a.m. The visit will take all day. Suddenly an idea struck her: They will be alone there. What if Wonka is a maniac who will attempt to murder them or abuse them in some way? He didn't look like one, though. Can a chocolatier be mad in any way at all? Surely he is clever when he managed to produce truly impossible things as never-melting ice-cream and chocolate birds hatching from sugar eggs. What will come next, though, will be a surprise, she thought when getting ready for bed. Anyway, she couldn't deny she was looking forward to him.
A few days later Cheryl and Deborah were sitting together in their favourite confectionery, enjoying some cakes. They had a reason to celebrate. When Deborah poked a little into the top spheres of the city library, only dust and decay came out. The letter was a fake of course; jealous Storm had it written by an influential acquaintance that he could be afraid of, for effect, but actually they played squash together. Deborah scraped acquaintance with them and pretended to have interest in them so they invited her for a drink. She managed to get them drunk and made them tell everything she needed. The speech was recorded on a miniature but powerful dictaphone in her handbag. Drunken men made a pass at Deborah and she had a hard time backing out of it. Luckily the dictaphone recorded the subsequent mafioso threats and both bigwigs were put into detention. Cheryl of course got her job back.
"You are excellent, Deb," said Cheryl. "Listen, lady Sherlock, wouldn't you like to dog out what's wrong with Amy too? She's been edgy lately and frowns all the time."
"It may be the nerves before the wedding," said Deborah. "According to statistics wedding is one on the most frequent causes of stress."
"Spit upon statistics. There's something wrong with Amy. She used to be nice but now she barely talks to me. Try to talk to her, she may tell you something."
"All right," said Deborah.
"See, talk of the devil..." Cheryl saw her sister's face through the confectionery's door glass. "Hi, come here," she waved at her. Amy glanced around, alert, and it seemed that she would disappear again when Deborah waved at her too. Amy then joined them hesitatingly.
"Hello, Amy," Debbie greeted her cheerfully. "How's it going?" Amy just waved her hand and ordered a cherry liqueur. As soon as it was brought, she drank it bottoms up and ordered another.
"Slow down, girl, or we will draw you home," Cheryl warned her.
"You are not my nanny," murmured Amy, watching the table desk. "What did you want?"
"We're just chatting like in the old days," said Deborah. "I was wondering how Rick was." Amy gave her a dark look.
"Well, if we must speak about that... Rick is surely fine."
"Let it out," said Deborah calmly.
"He left for his grandma," said Amy after a while. "But he promised he'd take me boating at the weekend. That is for the third time this month. We settle for something and he always finds an excuse so he doesn't have to be with me."
"What are you talking about?" Cheryl frightened. Amy gave her such a spiteful look that Cheryl better went silent. Deborah noticed the strange behaviour. It was clear it was on her now.
"Look, Amy," she spoke calmly. "Rick is a very busy man; he has a firm and a family to take care of. And why? Because he wants to make his future family safe, a family he wants to have with you, Amy. Visiting his grandma only proves his concern."
Amy drank the second liqueur bottoms up and barely audibly she said, "I think he is cheating me."
"Where did you get that?" Cheryl wondered. "And can you tell me at last why you are mean to me when it's Rick who's vexing you?" she couldn't forbear, when Amy cast her another look of a mass murderer.
"Calm down, girls," said Deborah and ordered Amy a chocolate cake. "This is on me. Eat up; it will do good to your nerves." Amy all of a sudden started to cry.
"It's been here already," she howled. Cheryl and Debbie exchanged uncomprehending looks. "Sorry, Cheryl, it's not your fault... but I can't get it out of my head," Amy wailed. "Everything went so complicated suddenly... the woman was right, I'm ruining my luck wherever I go."
"Don't you have that old hag in mind?" Cheryl remembered. "No, Amy. If she spoiled your life like this, I will go and strangle her."
"You are so good, Cheryl," cried Amy. "But... but when I think that I was actually holding the ticket in my hands..."
"What?" both of them exclaimed and you could practically see little wheels turning inside their heads as they were thinking.
"Wow, Amy, I had no idea..." Cheryl realized it first.
"I was longing to find the ticket," Amy continued. "I had Rick though – and if it was me who had unwrapped the chocolate -"
"What then?" said Deborah. "You'd jilt Rick and joined the lottery? Or would you give the ticket to Cheryl anyway?"
"I dunno," sighed Amy.
"You wouldn't buy that chocolate at first," Cheryl tried to comfort her.
"It was bought already. I bought loads of them; I didn't manage to unwrap those I bought that afternoon because Debbie came and then you... I thought if I gave you one nothing would happen... but it did."
"So this ticket is yours in fact," Cheryl hold her head.
"It doesn't matter, the whole world knows about you and Willy Wonka perhaps does too," Amy started to cry again. She was right of course. While three downhearted ladies proceeded through the night from the bar home, half carrying the middle one, Willy Wonka smiled from his dream. For the few past days he was able to sleep calmly again.
The best was to come, though.