𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙳 || Original Story

eighteen | soup part ii

I then sat down at the table, glad to be finally eating. Edgar was on one side of me and my Dad on the other and the latter eyed his guest carefully, watching.

It seemed strange, but he did it with everyone he'd ever met. I always thought it was due to his army training in that he'd weigh up a situation or person and then decide whether they're trustworthy enough.

Throughout the years, I had told him to stop as others wouldn't appreciate it, but my dad was stubborn and it was definitely a habit he couldn't kick. It was ingrained into his soul- a part of him.

I was thankful Edgar hadn't noticed. I would have known otherwise because he would appear that bit more nervous than usual.

However, he still looked apprehensive. He kept brushing his hair back with his hand and never made eye contact when there was even the briefest of silences.

Instead, he had taken several sips of the sparkling water that had been put on the table earlier and was currently blowing the soup to cool it down.

I was surprised it was still hot.

It was clear Dad hadn't been talking to Edgar about personal things because as we began to eat, he started to ask questions and sooner or later, Mum would be joining in.

"Where did you move from, Edgar?" He asked.

"L-London," came the reply. "I used to l-live in Chelsea."

"Chelsea?" Mum repeated. "Isn't that one of the posh parts?"

"I s-suppose you c-could call it that."

"And what is it you do for a living?"

"I w-was a j-journalist."

"Was?"

Edgar swallowed anxiously. "Long s-story."

"Well, don't feel obliged to answer, dear," Mum said. "I'm just being nosy."

"It was b-because of my s-stammer," he answered after a brief pause. "The c-company I worked for wanted t-to start verbal reportage, b-but I couldn't physically d-do that. S-So... I q-quit before I was made redundant for s-something I'd never b-be able to d-do."

"Hmm, couldn't you just have gone to a different company? Or considered therapy?"

"Dad," I hissed warningly. He liked to pry sometimes and I didn't think it would go down well with Edgar, especially since he found it hard enough to tell me things in a more relaxed environment.

"What?" He replied innocently.

Edgar looked to both of us in turn, saying, "it's f-fine. I... I d-doubted myself t-too much and th-thought that my employers would want th-the s-same thing wherever I went. As f-for the th-therapy, well... I've d-done it for t-ten years, intermittently, f-for larger p-periods of t-time and nothing has ever ch-changed. No m-matter how much effort I p-put in."