Harbinger Of Glory

After reaching the end of the corridor, Vittoria slowed and didn’t even know why she’d done that.

2 months wasn’t a long time, but she’d been gone long enough for everything to feel just slightly unfamiliar again.

She stopped outside the final door, returning a slight nod to the staff that greeted her before she knocked.

At that, the door eased open on its own, and she stepped inside her father’s study.

Five walls disappeared behind shelves filled from floor to ceiling, every inch occupied by books, while narrow ladders rested against polished rails, ready to slide wherever they were needed.

Away from that, the centre of the room was dominated by a heavy wooden table surrounded by three chairs and beyond it, the glass wall overlooked the sea where the afternoon sun rested lazily across the coastline.

Her father stood with his back to her, reaching for a book high on one of the shelves.

His fingers found the spine, pulled it free, slid another book into the gap it left behind and then finally turned.

His eyes met hers, but didn’t just stay there.

It seemed to search for signs of wellness, but after finding nothing opposite that, he nodded.

He walked to the table, beckoning her to follow, but neither of them rushed to fill the silence as they sat opposite one another.

With him, conversations always began this way.

He studied her for a few moments before speaking.

"You look well."

"I am."

After Vittoria’s answer, he gave a small nod.

"How was your holiday?"

Vittoria rested her elbows lightly on the table, staring keenly at her father.

"Are you actually asking because you don’t know?"

He looked at her.

"Or..." she continued, "...are you seeing whether I’ll tell you the same version your investigators already have?"

One corner of his mouth lifted as he looked at his daughter.

"No investigators."

She didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged.

"Not this time."

"You expect me to believe that?"

She held his gaze for another second before leaning back and finally letting it go.

"It was nice."

He waited for a bit after her answer, and that made Vittoria sigh again.

"This is why I don’t enjoy our talks anymore. You always do this."

"Do what?"

"You talk to me like you talk to those other old men!"

"It makes people uncomfortable."

"Well, it makes me feel the same way too."

Vittoria watched her father smile without speaking for a while again before he finally spoke just as she looked fed up.

"How is Leo?"

The question caught her completely off guard, and her eyebrows rose before she could stop them.

That was all the confirmation he needed.

A faint smile appeared across his face as he leaned forward.

"You didn’t think I’d know," he said, folding his hands together.

"You haven’t really been posting much since you went there, but there are older pictures, some from earlier this year and late last year."

Vittoria said nothing and just watched her father go on, and he did.

"In one of them, you were holding a Chelsea shirt, but I heard that was for a promotional event and nothing more.

She blinked forcefully as he went on.

"In another, you were sitting at the Emirates."

"But in one post, one of the few of yours that didn’t really get enough traction, you were wearing a blue and white football jersey!"

He smiled again.

"And unless football has changed dramatically while I’ve been working..."

"...people, especially like you, generally don’t wear another man’s shirt by accident."

Despite herself, Vittoria laughed.

"That’s a ridiculous conclusion."

"Is it?"

She rolled her eyes as her father continued as calmly as ever.

"I didn’t know he was your Leo when I first saw him."

"You saw him?"

"I was at San Siro."

At that, she frowned once more, but her father clarified.

"For the European qualifier."

"The federation invited me, and I went because I needed to meet someone there."

"After that game, I came away thinking he was extraordinary."

He looked out briefly toward the sea before returning his attention to her.

"It wasn’t until later, when I saw your photographs..."

"...that I realised the footballer everyone in Italy was discussing, even for a short while, was the young man you’d been spending your holiday with."

"It all got confirmed though when I saw an Italian thread with your picture asking what you were doing at the Wigan game against Burnley. After seeing that, I watched the highlights of the game and saw him dedicate a goal to you even. Quite the romantic guy."

He tilted his head slightly, smiling at Vittoria, who finally seemed to let everything go then and there.

"I have to admit....that surprised me."

"What?" her father inquired.

"I thought you’d disapprove."

"Of him?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, I do not approve of whatever relationship is between you two," he said sternly, causing Vittoria to frown, "but I’ve never met him."

"No," confirmed.

"So how could I disapprove of someone I don’t know?"

She looked at him quietly as he leaned back in his chair.

"All I want for my daughter is for her to stand tall and glorious, but I also want her to do so being happy, just like I was when I married your mom."

"So....tell me about him," he said, keeping his eyes on hers.

"Tell me about the man you’ve fallen in love with."

For the first time since she’d walked into the room...

Vittoria didn’t know how to answer immediately and could only manage an annoyed look at her father, who only smiled.

........

[Saturday]

By early afternoon, the roads leading toward the DW were awash with blue and white.

Families, lifelong supporters and groups of friends all drifted toward the stadium from every direction, scarves wrapped around necks despite the mild weather, with shirts proudly worn over jackets and conversations bouncing between predictions, league tables and the name that had dominated them all week.

Somewhere near the fan zone, a familiar tune broke out.

One voice became five and five became fifty.

Within moments, hundreds had joined in.

It had started months earlier as a joke, borrowed from an old country song before Wigan supporters had claimed it as their own.

Since then it had grown into something that echoed around the stadium every home game.

"Mancy road Take me home... to the place I belong...

To the castle... where Calderon scores...

Top of the league... and we’re not going down...

Take me home... the DW..."

The song rolled down the streets surrounding the ground, carried by thousands of voices until it became less of a chant and more of something almost physical.

It was still ringing around the approach roads when Tottenham’s team coach appeared.

Police escorts cleared a path through the crowd as the coach crawled toward the stadium entrance.

Supporters leaned over the barriers, waving scarves and applauding their own team while making sure the visitors understood exactly where they were.

Inside the coach, a few Tottenham players glanced through the tinted windows, and it felt suffocating to say the least.

They simply watched as their bus zoomed into the parking lot leading up to the player entrance!

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