I stayed with our things, stifling a yawn and hoping Nell would order us shots as she sashayed to the bar. Instead of something we could knock back quickly, she returned with two glasses brimming with orange liquid and stuffed with pink parasols, cocktail sticks spearing glacé cherries.

‘I asked for something fun,’ she shouted over Madonna who was ‘True Blue’. What was it with Spain and their fascination with English Eighties music?

I took a sip. ‘Jesus. We’ll sleep well after these.’

‘You think? I can only taste the orange. You’re such a lightweight. Hey, one o’clock.’

‘God, is it? No wonder I’m so tired.’

‘No. Look. At one o’clock.’ Nell jerked her head to her left. ‘He’s checking you out.’ I couldn’t help but look and when I did, I felt… I don’t know, a sense of déjà vu. Familiarity. He was tall, dark and awkward, sipping beer from a plastic cup, and alone. He seemed to be alone. He caught my eye and smiled. I turned away.

‘No boys, remember?’ I said to Nell.

‘I’ve you listed as being on your honeymoon?’ the young receptionist with jet black hair and bright white teeth asked.

‘Yes.’ Nell peered at his name tag. ‘Miguel.’ She draped an arm around my shoulders. ‘If we could have our key. My wife and I are eager to go to bed.’

Pretending we were married was preferable to going into why I wasn’t and Nell knew I did have that terribly British urge to constantly explain myself, but the emotions that surfaced when I heard myself described as someone’s wife zapped the last of my energy. All of a sudden it all caught up with me. The journey, the alcohol, my lack of sleep. My vision darkened and my ears began to buzz. Wishing I could sit, I rested my head on Nell’s shoulder, lulled by the tap-tap-tap of Miguel’s keyboard as he checked us in, words drifting in and out of reach … breakfast… sun loungers… excursions.

‘Let’s go, darling.’ Nell dropped a kiss atop of my head. Simultaneously I straightened my neck and wiped my mouth for traces of drool before I thanked Miguel and forced my feet to move. I could feel eyes burning into my back as we headed outside where the air was still warm and chirruping crickets welcomed us to their island.

The music grew fainter as we searched for our accommodation, using the scant light from the screens of our phones to make out the numbers on the whitewashed walls. Inflatable swans and flamingos rested on balconies, a signpost to the apartments with kids in them. Towels and swimwear dangled from retractable washing lines.

Stars speckled the sky and through the blackness, to our right, the sound of the waves lapping against an unseen shore. The warm air smelled of the beach.