"So, what should I do now?" I asked Jack, as we were drinking the beer I bought on the way home, after eating the gammon with potatoes I'd baked in the cast iron cooking pot over his stove.
He'd listened to my entire story, as I raged and gesticulated while eating dinner. Now, I was feeling calmer, and I was leaning on his shoulder.
He took a sip and stood up, turning to look into my face.
"Are you feeling better now?" he asked, looking at me intently.
"A little. Why?" I asked with suspicion.
"Because you will not like what I have to say," he replied.
I slumped in the chair, bracing myself. If Jack said I would not like it, it was going to be something really harsh. He never pulled his punches, and the gentle way he tried to approach it, in contrast with his usual bluntness, meant he
