The light from the Chocolate Factory shone through the curtains that covered the windows of his flat as if the material making them were tissue paper. For the umpteenth time, Felix tossed in his bed, sleep as far from his churning brain and twitchy body as Earth is from Andromeda. Giving up to his frustration, Felix threw back his quilt and sat up, swinging his feet to the floor, cradling his head in his hands.
The Chocolate Factory was where it was all happening: unusual doings were the order of the day there today. Felix had been at the factory earlier to see the lights come on—most unusual—and earlier still: the Wonka truck driving down and up the hill in the late afternoon had earned Felix's paper a squib from him, recounting that unusual activity, for everyone to share. Felix ran his stubby fingers through his longish, greasy blond hair, giving his scalp a good scratch. Too bad he hadn't a chance to fact check any of it. WTF. Details. His editor was eager enough to believe the wave of his hand meant 'yes' when he asked, but Felix hadn't really said that. Of course the lights didn't need fact checking: Wonka, God rot him, managed to share those with everyone without any help from this reporter.
Felix stood up. That squib wasn't gonna cut it. There was more going on at that bloody factory, just waiting to be uncovered. Tonight might be the night to do it. Felix picked his way among the various piles of clothing strewn around the floor, and pulling this from that, began dressing for the task that lay ahead of him.
The lights from Nora's taxi had faded, and like them, as the minutes ticked by, so did Terence's will to continue his vigil from Charlie's loft. The restlessness he'd felt earlier was still there, but less so, and admiring the lights from the Factory, still shining, it seemed to Terence that tonight, that was where the action was. That's where the Buckets were.
Terence glanced down at the empty fireplace below him, shadowy and dark. The Buckets' absence made this house so much colder than the fire's absence: the fire had never been what kept this house warm. A rueful laugh escaped Terence at his folly in coming here, his breath curling up like the smoke from the fire that wasn't there in the frigid air, but jumping to his own defense, he put it down to his earlier unsettled feeling. Having never seen them before, the Factory lights were the culprit for that, Terence knew. The lights were a taste of what the Factory was to this town once, and wasn't now, and seeing this showing of what might-have-been got Terence down. But used to them now, Terence clearly saw that Willy was more than capable of coping with Factory security: he didn't need Terence for that, and he didn't need Terence staking out the Buckets' house either.
So be it. Deciding to come in from the cold, and smiling at the phrase's apt nod to the John le Carré novel, Terence rolled up his sleeping bag, descended from Charlie's loft, and started back to his nice, warm, cozy, settled flat.
It was the light that woke him; the gentle light of the nightlight in the other room, seeping in as his mother pushed open the door and poked her head in. Charlie swam up from sleep before she could get away, struggling amidst the downy covers to prop himself up on his pillow. "Is that you, Mum?" his sleepy voice whispered.
Caught red-handed, and glad of it, Nora quickly crossed to Charlie's bed, sitting down on its edge, giving Charlie a quick hug. "It's me, dear," she whispered back. "I didn't mean to wake you. It's very late."
Charlie sighed contentedly and sank back into his pillow. "That's okay, Mum. You were checking on me."
Nora nodded. She was. Charlie's next question, as she smoothed the covers before tucking them in, surprised her.
"Can we stay?"
"That's an odd question, Charlie." Whatever could Charlie mean by that? Had Willy said something at the dinner she hadn't attended? Nora pursed her lips and slowed her fussing, trying to keep the stab of worry out of her voice. "Do you know something I don't, Charlie?"
Charlie's sigh, laced with resigned exasperation, was patient nonetheless. "No, Mum, I don't know, you do. You were checking on Willy tonight. Did he check out? Can we stay?"
Nora stopped her fussing with the bedclothes. "What makes you say that, dear?" It was true, but how did Charlie know?
"You're always checking on Willy." Charlie frowned. "Not like you check on me. You do it like the teachers check on us at school— like a test. Did he pass this time?"
Charlie was looking at her searchingly, and perplexed, Nora looked back at him. It never occurred to her her misgivings about Willy were burdening Charlie, and it plucked at her heart to know it now. "It's not just Chocolatiers under your watchful eye, is it?" she managed to whisper, her eyes glistening with tears of tenderness.
Charlie only continued to stare searchingly into her eyes, and Nora knew the answer was 'yes'. Charlie was watching her now. In unabashed apology Nora hugged Charlie again, kissing his forehead, keeping her hopefully reassuring smile brightly on him as she finished her tucking-in activities. "Well, don't you worry, sweetheart," she murmured gently, "if we can't stay, it won't be because of any objections from me. In my book, Willy passed with flying colors tonight."
Charlie sighed with perfect happiness, his eyes already closing as he burrowed back down into his warm bed, sleep only a moment or two away. "Good. Then we just need to worry about Grandpa George."
"Grandpa George?"
Charlie barely stifled a yawn, as his head found his pillow. "Grandpa George called Willy 'Candyman'. I don't think Willy liked it, but I can't tell for sure. He smiled a little, but it didn't look right."
Nora sat and watched as Charlie drifted off to sleep. When his breathing became slow and rhythmic, she quietly rose from the bed and tip-toed toward the door.
"You missed it, Mum." The change of the weight on the mattress had woken Charlie again, but he took delight in surprising her, waiting until she thought she had made good her escape before he said anything.
Nora, almost out the door, turned with a smile. "You're supposed to be asleep, young man," she said softly.
Charlie giggled sleepily at the success of his ploy, and with his worries allayed, he fought against the Sandman to share his evening. "We had spaghetti, and Willy told stories about Loompaland."
"And I want to hear every one of them, dear, but in the morning." Spaghetti. Nora smiled to herself as she left the room.
Darn, thought Charlie, fast losing the battle with Sandman. I forgot to tell Mum I asked Willy about the stones. The thought had barely formed itself in his head before sleep overtook him. Charlie surrendered to it gladly, in the softest, warmest bed he had ever known.
Shifting uncomfortably, Felix concluded this was hardest, coldest bench he'd ever had the misfortune to lie on. Having parked his car on a side street, Felix thought he'd hit pay dirt when as he turned onto the main drag in front of the Factory, he saw a cab pull away from the Factory gates. No such luck: though he ran to the gates, Felix saw no one in the courtyard. Without waiting, he turned away in disgust.
Cursing his timing, Felix decided he must have been wrong about the cab: it must have just slowed, to look at the lights up close. Felix had seen nary a soul since then, and no one went near the Factory. Not surprising: this two-bit town rolled up its sidewalks after Ten PM, and it was way past that. This bench he had settled on just got harder and harder, and more and more uncomfortable. Sure, it was in the line of duty, though he doubted his rag of a newspaper would give him the credit he deserved for his efforts. Fat lot he cared: this was personal, too.
His father had made a good living, beloved by every child in town and their penny-pinching parents until Wonka started back up in business again: Wonka starting up had closed his father down. Felix was fifteen when that happened; he was twenty-something now, but he hadn't forgotten. How could he? His father had never been the same: all the spirit leaked out of him, slowly, like the air leaking out of an old tire. 'It's too late to start over,' his father told his little family. 'I'll do something else.'
True to his word, his father found a job selling used cars, and despite not being his own boss anymore, the family wasn't hurt financially.
The years passed, and to Felix the Chocolate Factory lurked like a vulture, looming over the town, biding its sweet time before it bit off another chunk of their lives. Felix didn't need telling his father felt the same way: his father never looked at the Factory without turning away, his shoulders slumping with the weight of the lost opportunity it represented. Felix never looked at it without hatred, its dark presence a gargantuan reminder of the defeat its cowardly, hidden owner had brought to his father.
Felix grunted in discomfort as the bench he was lying on took the side of the cowardly, hidden owner: the dig of one of the wooden slats into his hip and thigh suddenly become unbearable. Silently cursing as he heaved his body to a more comfortable position, Felix chalked up his impression to an over-active imagination, fueled by the nearness of the hulking monstrosity itself: the Factory was across the street, shamelessly alight, as if it had never ruined anyone's life.
Pulling down his woolen cap, Felix closed his eyes against the glare and clutched his coat more tightly around him. He should have brought a blanket. The layers he'd put on before coming here were doing their job, but it was still cold. The scarf around his neck scratched at his neck and face, but Felix didn't mind: this was his chance. For over a decade, Willy Wonka had shut himself up in that fortress of his, like a lily-livered box turtle shut up in his shell, but now, the gutless Chocolatier was getting careless. Since the tour, there'd been sightings of the man, and Wonka was moving that ridiculous little house at the bottom of this very hill. Felix grunted in disgust. Wonka must have lost his marbles: a bulldozer was too good for that house!
Staking out the Factory was little enough to get to the bottom of it: digging up something Felix could use to ruin Wonka would be sweet, but a scoop for his paper on whatever was going on would be a sweet thing, too: with any luck, it would go viral. Felix Ficklegruber planned on ditching this pathetic backwater excuse of a town someday, and this might be his ticket to move up in the world.
A sniff from the bed in the middle of the room stopped Nora's tip-toeing progress toward her own bedroom. She gave a sidelong look in the sound's direction to find her father's glittering eyes boring into hers, his chin set close to his chest at a disapproving angle. She did her best not to laugh; he was doing his best to look down his nose, while looking up at her, and he was pulling it off.
"Finished your gallivanting about for the evening, have you Missy?" he hissed at her, but quietly.
"You were in good hands, Dad," Nora answered softly, almost laughing. She knew her father was only cross because he'd been worried about her. Checking the others, she saw Georgina and Josephine were asleep, but Grandpa Joe was up as well.
Her father sniffed again. "If you call your stand-in, Terence, good hands."
"I meant Willy, but Terence will do." Nora sat next to her father on the bed.
Her father folded his arms across the blanket. "If you ask me, I'm surprised the Candyman let you back in. You should have come home with Charlie."
Grandpa Joe waved a dismissive hand in George's direction. "No one asked you, George." His voice was low, barely a murmur, matching George and Nora's. "And no you shouldn't have come back with Charlie, Nora. We had a fine time."
Nora frowned; not that she doubted Charlie, but there was no denying the 'Candyman' rumor now, and it opened flood gates of curiosity in her. "Did Willy do the cooking?"
"He has a chef," offered Grandpa Joe.
"Of course he does," muttered Nora.
"And a passel of Loompa-Oompas," chimed in Grandpa George.
"Oompa-Loompas," corrected Nora. "Don't be rude, Dad. Did they serve the food?"
"No, Willy did," said Grandpa Joe, comfortable in his familiar role of relating the exploits of Willy Wonka. "The Oompa-Loompas brought in great platters of goodies, and twenty or so of them swarmed under the dining table and lifted it up and brought it over here. Then they left— all except Ahlia."
Nora eyed the dining table, still on the other side of the bed, where the Oompa-Loompas had put it. The set up was almost exactly the set up in their old house.
"Ahlia was our hostess." Grandpa George wasn't going to let Joe cut him out of the telling. "The Loompas all left and Willy served the food. Come to think of it, he was quite good at that."
"Oompa-Loompas. What did Willy talk about?" whispered Nora.
"Hornswogglers!" crowed Grandma Georgina.
All eyes turned to Georgina, and the talking abruptly stopped while the three processed the reality that Georgina was not asleep. Recovering from the surprise, George leaned toward her, taking her hand in his, giving it a warm little pat.
"That's right, dear, he did say that."
"He did?" Nora's eyebrows were climbing, as she got up and moved around the bed to give her mother a hug and a peck on the cheek.
"He did," affirmed Grandma Josephine.
All eyes turned in turn to Josephine.
"I guess we're all up," said Grandpa Joe, jokingly. "So much for quiet."
There were smiles all around as the newly awoken were welcomed into the circle, but also silent agreement they would keep their voices low.
"Willy sat next to me," beamed Grandma Georgina. She leaned forward and patted a spot on the bed near her ankles.
"And barely said a word," nodded Grandma Josephine, "until after dinner, that is."
"Terence and Ahlia took up the slack. You'd have barely noticed the not talking," threw in Grandpa George.
"I don't think he'd have stayed if you had come back with Charlie." It was Grandpa Joe's turn, but he sounded serious.
"I noticed he barely ate a thing, and I agree with Joe." Josephine pursed her lips until they were a thin line that threatened to disappear into the wrinkles of her face. "I think Willy was waiting for you to get back. He had an eye on the door whenever he thought no one was looking at him."
Nora thought about relating her experience at the Factory's door with Willy when she did return, but that felt wrong. For no reason she could put her finger on, she wanted to keep that private for now: probably at this late hour, it was too much to explain. Silence fell as she thought it over, and the others paused to regroup as they waited for her deliberation to end. The verdict was a question on another subject. "What happened after dinner?"
That was the jackpot question: Grandpa Joe sat up in bed as if he had won the lottery. "Stories!" Joe's chuckle prevented him from continuing right away, but everyone was smiling and waiting for him in such a way that Nora felt sorry she hadn't been here to hear them.
"Ahlia asked Charlie what we did at home after dinner, and Charlie told her we tell stories…"
"About the Chocolate Factory," interrupted Grandpa George, feeling he was being left out.
Grandpa Joe scowled at George, and folding his arms across his chest, harumphed most officiously. "As I was saying— Ahlia asked what Charlie's favorite story was, and he told her he liked to hear about Prince Pondicherry." Grandpa Joe was grinning from ear to ear.
"That's when Willy started talking," nodded Grandma Josephine sagely. "He said: 'Ohhh… I love that story. Please tell it.'"
"You'd think it hadn't happened to him," snapped Grandpa George, refusing to be cut out.
"Patty-cake, patty-cake," piped up Georgina.
Grandpa George clarified: "Ahlia was clapping her hands and insisting as well."
"I think the story was new to her," nodded Grandma Josephine.
Grandpa Joe looked over at his daughter-in-law, now sitting in the spot Willy occupied earlier in the evening. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to tell a Willy Wonka story to Willy Wonka?"
Nora thought it must feel pretty good, because Joe's smile was dreamy.
"It's nigh unto impossible, that's what," threw in Grandpa George, still snappish.
"Willy interrupts all the time," concurred Grandma Josephine.
Joe's smile only got dreamier. "That's what I mean— a Willy Wonka story with details filled in by Willy Wonka…"
"…But who really cares what the proper coefficient of chocolate viscosity is for making chocolate bricks?" Grandpa George scanned their faces. "I mean, I ask you!"
"Or the exact ratio of light to dark chocolate to make a certain shade," added Josephine, quick to pile on with a critique of her own, if shortcomings were the subject.
"Leave the man alone." It was Georgina, making sense, and everyone was silent.
This was probably the time to call an end to this pow-wow—it was only getting later—but Nora was caught up in what she was hearing. She waited till the group had caught its collective breath, and started in again. "Then what?"
Grandpa George started to speak, but Joe held up his hand, and the group, more somber for knowing what happened at the Factory after Willy returned from India, leaned back against their pillows to let him have the floor.
"He stopped interrupting as I got toward the end, and when I finished we figured Willy was somewhere else in his mind."
Grandpa George frowned. "Completely oblivious, is what I'd call it."
Grandpa Joe nodded his agreement. "Terence and Ahlia told us to be quiet, wait it out, so we were, until he like— came to, I guess you could say."
When she spoke, Josephine's voice was missing its usual edge of disapproval. "It took awhile."
"I don't know if Charlie or Ahlia noticed his coming around first," continued Grandpa Joe, "but Ahlia was quick to fill in the silence— I think before Willy realized there was one. She insisted he tell a story— as if she didn't want the Factory team bested by our team. Charlie backed her up immediately, and I think between the two of them, Willy felt reassured."
"Dark chocolate!"
"That's right, Georgina."
Nora looked perplexed, and Joe hastened to explain. "Willy never stopped looking into their faces as they coaxed him, and it was awhile before he said anything, but when he did it was to agree. The whole time he was picking at the dark chocolate shavings on top of the dessert he'd brought…"
"…There's one for you…"
"…Shush, Dad, not now," but Nora could see it was true. A four-sided glass, no bigger than a shot glass, filled with a creamy whiteness, with a red swirl in it, like a barber's pole, sat on the dining table. On top of the dessert were dark chocolate shavings. A tiny spoon sat beside it.
"…And eating them…"
"…About the only thing he did eat…"
"Will you stop interrupting, please, Dad!"
"Yes, stop interrupting, you're as bad as Willy, George…"
Nora's exasperation spilled over. "Stop it, all of you, and that includes you Josephine! I'm sorry, but I want to hear this. Please go on, Joe."
"…And then he launched into the story about how he found Loompaland, and I can tell you, it's a good one. I got the feeling Ahlia had heard it before, but not from Willy, and she was hanging on every detail."
Josephine sat back, happy to once again have a reason to put on her most sour face. "Loompaland is awful! Simply awful— there's no other way to describe it, believe you me."
"Snozzwhangers!" sang out Georgina.
Grandpa Joe nodded. "Lots of fierce jungle beasts, with Oompa-Loompas the preferred main course…"
"Every course," snorted Grandpa George.
"Whangdoodles!"
George patted his wife's hand again. "We can hear you, dear, we're right here." Georgina's zeal was expressing itself in increasing decibels, and George was doing his best to avoid complaints from the neighbors, even if the neighbors were only Noah and Charlie.
Seeing his chance, Joe finished his thought: "…The Oompa-Loompas are a lot better off living here."
The Grandparents exchanged knowing glances with each other, as Nora stared off into space, contemplating the implications of the comment. It went without saying the Bucket family was better off, too, but they smiled at each other anyway, expecting Nora to say it. Returning from her wanderings, and looking into their waiting faces, Nora disappointed the oldsters by not saying out loud what they all thought she was thinking. Instead, Nora kept what she was thinking to herself. Willy had rescued the Oompa-Loompas.
Georgina didn't let the sudden, unexpected silence dampen her spirits. While the others wondered what to say to fill it, smiling saucily, Georgina patted George's hand as she turned and sang in his ear, ever so softly, "Hornswogglers!"
Nora let her thoughts go, and hopped off the bed. "I think that's where I came in, my dears, and now that we've come full circle, I better make my exit, and let all of you get back to sleep."
I never tire of your reviews, so dionne dance, 07kattho, and Celeste K. Raven, I hope you never tire of accepting my warmest thanks for taking the time to submit your thoughts. I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Everyone, thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.
