“Right, Jessie, girl, let’s eat before it gets cold,” said Lew, rubbing his gnarly hands together. It sounded like sandpaper on wood.
“Nice bit of bacon, this. Not salty. Lovely it is. Lovely,” cooed Jessie.
“I forgot the tomatoes!” I said, jumping up again.
“Shall we carry on then, son?” asked Lew.
“I see you’ve got yourself a beer, Dad,” I said, somewhat peevishly, grabbing one for myself and Frances.
Lew raised his glass to me and smiled innocently.