Chris shut the front door gently behind him and placed his 'Super Spurs' lunchbox on the wooden console table, pushing aside a pile of letters as he done so.
"Is that you, champ?", said Mrs. P lovingly before appearing from the kitchen. "I've made your favourite dinner; it'll be on the table in 15", she added. The comforting smell of sausage and mash in onion gravy followed her words across the hallway. Chris' nostrils flexed. "How's your day been, dear?", asked Mrs. P, hopeful as ever. Chris attempted a grin and shrugged his shoulders. He removed his jacket and flat cap, loosened his tie and undone the top button of his shirt, giving out a deep, long sigh as he done so. Turning to the mirror he cringed inwardly at the awkward contrast of his sharp, sartorial outer layers against his weathered super hero costume that lay beneath; worn and ragged. Tired and fading it may well be in appearance, but the power was still there, deep inside.
"I've put the fire on for you in the front room", shouted Mrs. P. "Do you want peas in with your onion gravy?" she added enthusiastically. Chris never answered. Instead, he slumped in his leather armchair and propped his feet up on the poof. He stared intently at the TV screen.
"Aren't you going to turn it on?" said Mrs. P, as she handed Chris a warm cup of milk. "And how are the new boys settling in?", she asked whilst jabbing at the fire to make the coals rage. Chris began slowly turning his hot milk round and round on the arm of the chair.
"Polish Pete and...what are they calling the other one, Dave isn't it?" Mrs. P announced with a jovial tone in her voice. "That's funny".
Chris followed the dancing embers as they rose up past the fire place until by the mantelpiece they drew level with the framed picture of Big Yann wearing a beret with the League One trophy.
He lifted the hot milk to his mouth and took an heroic and defiant swig.
"Dinner's ready, dear", shouted Mrs. P.
"Aren't you going to turn it on?" said Mrs. P, as she handed Chris a warm cup of milk. "And how are the new boys settling in?", she asked whilst jabbing at the fire to make the coals rage. Chris began slowly turning his hot milk round and round on the arm of the chair.
"Polish Pete and...what are they calling the other one, Dave isn't it?" Mrs. P announced with a jovial tone in her voice. "That's funny".
Chris followed the dancing embers as they rose up past the fire place until by the mantelpiece they drew level with the framed picture of Big Yann wearing a beret with the League One trophy.
He lifted the hot milk to his mouth and took an heroic and defiant swig.
"Dinner's ready, dear", shouted Mrs. P.
If you're bored enough, part one of 'The Grin' can be found here.
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