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Emma laughs. ‘You were our little sidekick. So loyal. Always so happy and unfazed by life, you still always remember our birthdays, you’re just lovely to your core.

You’re even nice to our mum and she’s hard work.

’ I laugh but grip her hand, grateful. She looks up at me earnestly.

‘Reclaim that main character energy, that’s what the kids are saying these days, yes?

’ she tells me. I smile. ‘Keep being you. Don’t let that shitting prick take away everything that made you the person that you are. Promise me.’

‘Emma, you swore…’

She laughs. She’s not the swearer of the sisters. She’s not even in the top three. ‘There are no kids around. I swear when the moment deserves it. Maybe I’ve changed.’ Or not, I think, looking over at her bag where I know everything will be in packing cubes, labelled and pressed.

‘You’ll be on the unicorn next,’ I tell her.

‘Only once you have. ’

Emma downs her water and then gets up to inspect all the drawers and cupboards in that kitchen, all stocked with beautifully patterned china, champagne flutes and a coffee machine.

I dwell on Emma’s words; there was no other way to be after Paul’s betrayal.

I don’t think my mum would have settled for anything less than sticking up for myself and getting the hell out of there but Emma’s right – there are big emotions, the main one being a real fear there that in running away from my past, I don’t really know what the future looks like.

I sit down and look out at the view. Maybe I’m right though, it all starts here for now.

I can picture the next few days, coffee on the big sofas with a book in hand as the morning sun comes up.

All in my pants obviously as Lucy doesn’t want us to cover up.

I stand up and examine the modern art on the walls, brightly coloured in yellows, greens and hot pinks.

However, the longer I look at it, the more my eyes seem to deceive me.

I thought it was a series of brightly coloured circles, but could they be something else?

Are those nipples? No, they can’t be. Pervert.

I laugh to myself, feeling a little surge of joy that I can still find things funny.

I turn to point the nipples out to Emma but she seems to be hovering over the dishwasher, reading a note on the counter.

‘Hun, what does the word juguetes mean?’

I pause to sift through my basic Spanish knowledge. ‘Jugar is play. Possibly toys?’

‘Why would you put toys in a dishwasher?’ she enquires curiously.

‘I don’t know but do these circles in the photo look like…’

And with that, there’s a sudden squeal from upstairs as Grace pokes her head over the balcony, laughing so hard I fear she can’t quite breathe.

‘I can’t bloody believe it! I’m calling him now. Oh my life…’

We hear Meg’s voice echoing from one of the bedrooms as Emma and I head up the grand spiral staircase to investigate, watching Grace literally lying on the floor still in hysterics.

As we open the door, Meg stands there, on her phone not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

‘Seriously, Danny. What do you mean you didn’t know?

Surely they should have mentioned it? We could have brought our kids here!

’ I don’t hear her words though. All I can see is the giant swing hanging from the ceiling in the middle of the room.

Emma looks at me and then back at Grace. ‘What the hell? Is this in every room?’

Grace can hardly control herself. ‘LUCY! BETH! Get out of the pool, you have to see this!’ she bellows over the balcony. She turns back to us. ‘There’s a pole in my room. What do you guys want? The rotating bed or the room of mirrors?’

‘Noooo,’ Emma says aghast. She walks over to the swing and examines it closely. ‘I don’t want to think how many people have used this? We’ll have to go into town and get some bleach.’ I’m too shocked but I have to side with Grace here, this is mildly hilarious.

‘Danny, this isn’t funny. How can we sleep on these beds knowing what goes on here? I could catch things.’

‘Chlamydia,’ Emma mutters under her breath.

‘Herpes, BV, ringworm.’ She goes over to a wardrobe and opens it to see racks of sex toys, arranged like one would hang guns and ammo.

She puts her hand to a mouth like she’s just found a dead body.

‘Oh, god, this is what that note in the kitchen meant. Don’t put the toys in the dishwasher… ’

I look over at Grace now and can’t stop laughing. Those were likely nipples in that painting downstairs so I’m not a pervert at all.

Meg has moved into the bathroom. ‘For the love of God, Danny. There’s a rack of strap-ons in here.’

And my more muted laughter suddenly erupts. ‘Oh my, that’s what Rosa meant when she said there were items in the bathroom. When she questioned why there weren’t any men. It’s because she thought we were all…’

‘On a lesbian sex holiday…’ Emma says, nodding her head and looking like she might pass out from the shock.

‘Who was this contact? You go and ask him how this is all cleaned. Lucy is in the pool. God knows what could swim up her bits,’ Meg’s voice echoes through the walls.

‘Did you know? I bet you knew. This is the sort of thing you’d find funny.

What do you mean? Didn’t you look at the pictures?

You always look at the pictures. There’s a whole drawer of butt plugs. ’

Grace really can’t breathe now as Emma goes to sit on the edge of the bed, not realising it’s a water bed and falling right into it, the waves making her bob around, unable to find her feet. ‘Oh my god!’ she screams. ‘Get me off this fucking thing. I can’t…’

Grace and I would help if we weren’t doubled over in laughter. Turns out Emma really can swear if she needs to.

Charlie

‘NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA-NA!’

Christ. I’m trying to work out if I can get the coach driver to slow down so I can roundhouse kick Andy off this vehicle. I reckon everyone who’s not a part of our stag do would hail me as a hero because this impromptu chanting/singing is not what we all need at this time of morning.

Maybe focus on the sight of leafy palms, sandy beaches, blue skies and mountains zipping past the windows, and just try to imagine Andy, conductor of the world’s crappest boyband, isn’t here.

I really don’t want to hear club classics as sung by a group of twentysomething young men.

I want late nineties chillout if possible.

I want to feel that deep relaxation of knowing you’re somewhere else in the world, you’re on holiday, you’ve escaped.

I don’t want to have to make constant backward glances to the back of the coach to a group of older men tutting and rolling their eyes.

I reckon I could take Andy on. He’s not Captain America anymore – the cabin crew made us change as Max’s Hulk outfit made a small child cry.

But in fact we look far worse now. Some of us (me) had the good sense to pack a change but the rest of us are just wearing cobbled together items from people’s cabin bags.

Coops is in a polo shirt that’s two sizes too small so it clings a little too much to his shapely frame.

God help the lad who didn’t have time to take off his purple face paint.

Andy is literally in a rash guard and swim shorts, bopping from seat to seat, the music blasting from his phone.

The bus slows down but brakes suddenly so Andy loses his footing and stumbles, dropping said phone.

I look at the driver in the rearview mirror and catch his eye. I saw that. Well done, that man.

‘Playa del Sol. The Playa del Sol hotel,’ he says in loud annoyed tones.

‘YES LADS! This is US!’ all the stags cheer, as we stumble off that coach and I try to do some damage control with the other coach passengers with mumbled thank yous, explanations and my hand to the air in an apologetic wave.

‘Gracias, siento mucho el ruido,’ I tell the driver as I disembark. I slip ten euros into his hand and he looks at me strangely. I don’t know if it’s the fluent Spanish or the crappy tip but he nods silently.

‘?Suerte, senor!’

Good luck. I think I might need it.

I step off the coach where the lads have already made their loud and boisterous entrance into the reception.

We booked a package holiday to keep the costs down and this meant many things: a cheap early-morning flight but a cheerful all-inclusive party palace hotel.

We are here for the unlimited drinks, the beach access, and the foam parties.

I have a feeling it will be a bit of a shagfest with hangovers, house music and a bit too much half naked ass on display but at least we’re abroad.

Even if this becomes debauched and ridiculous, just being near the sea with the mountains in the background feels like a massive weight off my shoulders.

The air already feels and smells cleaner but there is something about the heat simmering in the air, the sun in the sky, that feels energising.

I close my eyes, enjoying the prickle of it on my skin.

‘Let’s have it, lads!’ Three seconds of serenity.

That’s all I got there. I spy Andy through the doors, still pissing about whilst Max does his best to check them all in.

I head over to him, the coolness of the reception air a welcome break from the heat, laughing at Max as I know he still needs his fingers to count.

‘All good?’ I ask.

‘Yep,’ he says, a little blurry eyed. From downing pints in the airport pub to cheeky cans on the plane, I can see the constant drinking is starting to take effect.

‘We can’t get in the rooms until three but they said they can store our bags and we can hang at the pool until then, grab some lunch, head to the beach? ’