I left Jenny to go to the supermarket as she cried her broken heart out.
I bought a pint of ice-cream. Vanilla.
I got back, we sat together on her bed. Our backs against the wall,
passing the precious pint between us, scooping chunks of ice cream and
shovelling them into our mouth while we spoke of nothing and everything.
The ice cream dried her tears.
When I was crying, my heart broken – I had a bottle of rum in one hand and a box of tissues in the other.