Chapter 2 – Mister Wilkinson
High up inside the administration wing of the immense factory, Mr Jeffrey Wilkinson was very close to smiling as he watched the two young people pack up and leave the hillside.
He had been a little concerned that they were leaving too late, as certain areas of the town were becoming increasingly unsafe as evening approached. However, they were already ambling along down the tiny track. They would both be home and safe well before the warehouse districts less savoury patrons began emerging and causing a fuss.
He had first met the young lady two years ago, shortly after her and Charlie had begun frequenting the hillside after school. It had been an accidentally deliberate encounter in the beautiful little glade she was so fond of.
She was a very polite young woman, if intensely private and slightly suspicious, as she had every right to be. Few people wandered around this little corner of the town, so a lonely man out for a leisurely stroll in the hills by himself could well be regarded with some level of suspicion these days. It was quite a depressing thought really. He missed the good old days. Fantastic, now he felt old.
Although he would never admit to it, his boss, young William, had been eaten up with curiosity about those two ever since they had become regulars on the hillside clearing two years ago.
He had even caught his boss spying on them with binoculars one afternoon last summer, although 'birdwatching for research purposes' had been the hurried response when he had questioned Williams' actions. William Wonka did not 'spy' on anyone.
"Absolutely not Mr Wilkinson, that would be a preposterous notion, and shame on you for suggesting it, sir."
That had been the indignant response of his boss and long-time friend, Willy Wonka. Wilkinson had fond memories of that notorious day, as William had sniffed haughtily and turned back to his half-desk and mountains of paperwork. The 'bird-watching incident' was never mentioned again.
Jeffrey Wilkinson turned away from the window and collected his coat. He walked out of the office in search of his wayward employer. The younger man would no doubt be flitting around somewhere, busy as always, but as for himself, it was time to head home to his family for the evening.
Myky, the Oompa Loompa kindly pointed him in the right direction. Wonka could be found in The Chocolate Room at the moment.
"Look at this Wilkinson!" Wonka excitedly waved him over. "The dance troupe have finished their choreography for this section. You have to watch this."
Wilkinson leaned against the bridge with Wonka and together they observed the performance. Mr. Wilkinson raised his bushy eyebrows at some of the lyrics. Those would definitely need to be changed, he thought privately.
The Oompa Loompas had insisted on creating a dance for each section of "The Testing Grounds" as they liked to call the various areas. They were convinced that at least one of the children would fail each test, and they wanted to be prepared. They had been trialling various lyrics and choreography for weeks.
As the Oompa Loompas danced and sang, Wilkinson snuck a glance at his long-time friend.
Willy Wonka was enthralled by the dancing. His plans to create a Golden Ticket contest had been his clever idea to ensure that Charlie and his lady friend would be visiting the factory. He dearly wanted to meet them both.
Mr. Wilkinson thought back to the day when Willy had first approached him with the tiny seed of an idea. He never could have imagined that it would blossom into such a vast theatrical farce. It was ridiculous, outlandish even. In fact, Willy was clearly mad for ever entertaining such an idea.
"All the best people usually are my friend." That had been his employers' exact words as he had bounced out of the office that day.
Mr. Wilkinson continued reminiscing, not realising he had begun to frown.
Long ago when the factory had first been built, his friend had chosen the location of his office very carefully. It had a lovely view overlooking the hills and forests behind the town. He said it helped soothe the mind and made him happy.
The incident with the spies had ruined that carefree happiness, and Willy had retreated, both physically and mentally, from the world in general.
Nowadays, Willy spent most of his paperwork breaks staring out of the window at the natural landscape to try and escape from the depressing reality that crept in from every corner. The real world of laws and reason was a leech that attached itself to him and bled him dry. No matter what effort he made to scrape it off, another one would soon appear. It drove Wonka mad.
His factory was now a true marvel in every sense of the word, and so very far removed from the harsh and unrelenting reality that Willy found so difficult to function in.
The world outside the factory only seemed to care about itself, about money and prestige to the point that Willy feared for the very fabric of society itself. They had spent many an afternoon debating the topic.
Wilkinson shook his head. His friend was such a kind and free-spirited man. It was sad to see him when his melancholy moods caused him so much suffering. The incident with the spies had been the final straw and Willy Wonka retreated from the world stage.
Those moods had slowly begun disappearing since Willy began his 'bird-watching' hobby.
Wilkinson watched his friend, who was mesmerized by the Oompa Loompas dancing merrily in formation. He was so deep in thought that he wasn't aware that Wonka was slyly watching him as well.
In truth, Wilkinson knew what Willy truly longed for, even if the genius would never openly admit it. He longed for the day he could disappear forever into the sanctuary that his factory provided. Wonka wanted to be forgotten by the real world and its sorrows and live forever in the peaceful and fun worlds he had created. Together with his Oompa Loompas and his chocolate, he would finally be at peace.
Wonka had come to the sad realisation that his delightfully quirky treats only existed as a nostalgic, whimsical memory of a more innocent age. His cleverly crafted candies had no place in a world where no one had any spare money for such luxuries. Only the rich were still interested in buying fancy Wonka bars anymore and even then, it was regarded mainly as a status symbol with bragging rights.
Sadly, taxes and regulations had not yet forgotten the factories' existence, and so 'Willy Wonka - The Brand' still had need to function and churn out regular chocolate to pay the bills. Sales of his regular chocolate bars were still very much in demand by everyone, both rich and poor, and were famous all around the world.
Willy Wonka could not completely disappear just yet.
"Take a picture my friend, it will last longer."
With a start, Jeffrey Wilkerson snapped back to reality. His friend had been staring at him in amusement for some time it seemed.
"My apologies," he mumbled. "I was lost in thought."
"Clearly." Willy replied. "How are the final preparations for the chocolate distribution? If Doris' predictions are correct, and she is never wrong mind you, sales of Wonka bars will break all known records when we begin the contest."
"All sales and shipments have been confirmed and our suppliers are on standby. We are ready to proceed with this ridiculous circus of yours William." Wilkinson straightened himself and looked pointedly at Wonka.
"You could just take a simple stroll up that little hill and talk to them you know." Willy huffed as Wilkinson continued to speak. "This contest of yours may well backfire horribly, you do realise that don't you?"
"Never fret my good man, all is in hand." Wonka clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Charlie Bucket will be safe and sound inside this factory very soon. I have every confidence that that sweet boy will pass every possible test whilst the other brats will fail by their own arrogant means." Willy adjusted his hat with a flourish. "Charlie will inherit my factory, I am sure of it my friend."
"It's not your fault that his family died you know." Wilkinson sighed in defeat. They had discussed this issue many times before. "Also, you haven't even started the contest yet, how do you know that all the children will be brats?"
Willy ignored the last question. "I am somewhat responsible. If I hadn't closed the factory after the spies were found, then at least one member of the Bucket family would be gainfully employed and could have afforded decent housing in a decent section of town. Dying in that blasted fire due to bad health and poverty was therefore, at least partly my fault, as the media were kind enough to point out. Several times, in fact."
Wonka began pacing in agitation.
"I like this boys attitude Wilkinson. From everything you have told me, he shows so much promise. More than most. All he needs now is a helping hand, which I will happily provide, if he passes the tests."
"Dinner, Willy." Wilkinson gave a sigh. "My wife and I have invited you for dinner numerous times. Maybe you should accept the invitation. Isabelle comes over regularly and it always makes Charlie extremely happy." Wilkinson shifted, knowing fully well he was being ignored again. "You should try talking to the both of them instead of creating this elaborate contest."
Willy stopped pacing and spun around and clapped his hands together. "And where would the fun be? Now, if you will excuse me, there is still plenty to finalise before the ticket contest is announced to the world tomorrow. Sleep well my friend." He sauntered away with a spring in his step, his cane twirling merrily at his side.
Wilkinson shook his head as Wonka disappeared along the path. He had to admit that the Golden Ticket contest had breathed new life into the chocolatier and returned him to his usual chirpy self. It was good to see.
It was very true that Charlie was a bright young lad, full of wonder and imagination, seemingly able to shrug off the cruelties of the world with a smile and happy laugh. His older friend and mentor, Isabelle, had helped him with that. However, the boy had no means of truly utilizing his potential. His opportunities in life were quite limited because of his circumstances. Life was cruel that way.
Wilkinson closed the hidden doorway behind him that lead to the outside world and strode briskly along the roadway as he made his way home. The spring sun was already beginning to sink below the horizon at exactly the perfect angle to blind him as he entered the courtyard of the foster home.
As per usual his home was a chaotic mess of noisy children in various stages of play and relaxation. His dear wife Dorothy greeted him with a smile as she took his coat and gave him a hug.
It was good to be home.