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However, the aquarium staff member standing there in between us, who we assume can’t speak any English interprets that dirty talk a little differently.

‘You want to see something diferente?’ he asks me.

We both turn to him, wondering what he’s going to suggest, and he opens a door and reaches into a tank.

Different could mean many things, no? Maybe something benign like a mussel or a turtle but what he pulls out is the biggest motherfucking crab I’ve ever seen.

His legs lengthy and gnarled, pincers the size of adult hands, the bugger looks like he has seven tentacles coming out his mouth.

I can’t talk to see it. But someone can.

He doesn’t quite talk, it’s more a high-pitched shriek.

‘But senora said she wants to stroke…’ he says, laughing heartily. ‘Yum yum yum…’

I laugh as he makes the noise coming towards Charlie.

‘Get it away…get it away…’ Charlie says, flapping his arms around, still screaming and backing away from it, into me.

‘Charlie, CHARLIE! I’m too close to the…’

Edge. Of the rockpool. I lose my balance as he backs into me, my arms flailing, feet coming off the floor. And the last thing I feel is me grabbing on to him, and a massive splash as we both fall in, together.

Charlie

‘Well, at least it wasn’t one of the children so there will be less paperwork,’ Lee tells Mark and me as we sit there on the rooftop of the hostel, taking in some beers in the last of the Sevillian light.

The group all laugh at us as I sit there nursing my pride and my wounds, because I got an urchin stuck in my thigh that had to be removed.

I can’t tell what’s worse. The fact that children filmed the episode so that might be the basis of our school notoriety until the end of time or the fact the aquarium, desperately apologetic for scaring us with the giant crab, gave us free annual membership and T-shirts to take home.

I watch Suzie wearing hers now, her hair freshly washed, letting the last of the sunlight and heat dry it and I hold a bottle of beer to my lips, feeling pleasantly drunk, remembering the moment when we both got back to our room today and realised the first port of call was to have a shower.

‘Do you want to go first?’ I asked her, not wanting to assume anything.

‘We could go in together?’ she suggested.

‘Saves water. You could check me for algae.’ It was not my sexiest talk but it made her laugh, and she came over to me and kissed me gently.

I ran my hands over her shirt, damp and matted to her back, and removed it, planting kisses on her shoulder, up to her neck.

She smelt a little like chlorine and tinned tuna but I didn’t tell her that.

All I know is that one minute we were half clothed, the next we were naked and it was all achingly familiar, the curves of her, the softness of her skin, the second where she stopped to look me in the eye, biting her lip, before…

‘I don’t think I’ve ever heard a scream like that before,’ Mark chuckles.

I snap back to attention. Did he hear something whilst we were in the shower?

My throat is dry thinking of how the foam dripped off her breasts, the pertness of her nipples, and I backed her onto the wall of that shower, slipping my erection into her, an arm under her knee, the sound we both made when that happened, the way we both recognised the pleasure immediately.

I adjust myself in my chair. It’ll be all the kids talk about now if people heard us. ‘Scream?’ I ask, clearing my throat.

‘The crab,’ Mark tells me.

I relax back into my chair, relieved, bringing myself back to that roof space. ‘Well, it was fairly sizeable, Mark,’ I argue. ‘The claws could have had my eyes out. It could have speared my bollocks,’ I say in all seriousness, watching as Lee bites his lip trying to control his laughter.

‘And that would have likely eclipsed every school trip story I have in my locker, and I’ve been on twenty-four of the things. Remember when we brought that Spanish teacher back without any knackers because some crab went for him,’ he jokes.

I look around to see everyone doubled up laughing and realise I can take a few jokes about my possible death by mutant crab if it produces this kind of mood.

However, I think it also may be the effects of this 7-Eleven sangria finally kicking in after a very long day.

I look down at the empty bottles around us.

‘More drink, folks?’ Lee says, not waiting for us to reply but disappearing to procure some more bottles.

No one tells you about this part of the school trips for teachers.

It’s great that everyone thinks we’re so committed to their kids’ education and sacrificing our time to safeguard them, but really we’re here for the monumental piss-up, to blow off some steam and get to know all our colleagues properly.

And when I mean properly, I’ve already learned that Mark likes a tight short and he has a tattoo of a maraca-playing cactus on his left shin.

I know Suzie likes it when I run my tongue along her pelvic bone.

I close my eyes for a moment to think about that and steady myself.

Suzie and Jackie don’t sit with us. They sing along and dance to the music on the Bluetooth speaker we’ve stolen off one of the kids.

Suzie’s teal aquarium T-shirt is tied in a knot at her waist. There’s something sweet about her mistimed dance moves, all joyous and happy, her bare feet skipping across the tiles.

It feels like I’m seeing an unedited version of her.

In my head, when I was thinking about that French girl in Mallorca, I’d romanticised her to the point of idolising her.

She was this perfect mermaid who I had incredible sex with, who became the object of my fantasies when I was in the shower at six thirty in the morning.

But there is something deeper in getting to know someone like this, in seeing them singing along and not quite knowing the words to a song, in having them drool on your arm when you sleep next to them.

In how they also show you consideration and care when you tell them the deepest, most personal details of your life.

‘Someone’s got a crush, eh?’ Mark says, resting his hands on the back of his head and leaning back in his chair.

‘I have no idea what you mean?’ I reply. ‘I’m just looking at them dancing and find it hugely entertaining.’

Mark laughs. ‘Yeah, right. I know loved-up eyes when I see them.’

‘That would be sangria, mate,’ I say, holding my glass up to the air. ‘So tell me, how long have you been with Jackie for?’ I ask, trying to change the subject.

‘Thirty years,’ he answers proudly, looking over at his wife as she quite awkwardly twerks against the ledge showing us all that she might not be wearing a bra.

‘And how did you meet?’ I ask him.

‘Oh, it was a club in Camden. We were interesting people before we settled down with kids and became boring school fuckers,’ he says, laughing.

‘You’ll like this story. We was at a Britpop club night, there was me looking like some wanker in a tracksuit top and a mullet and there was Jackie and her mate, Lisa.

Anyways, we got talking, they needed a place to crash so they came back to my house share in Bethnal Green. ’

‘Smooth…’

‘You’d think. Her mate passed out on the sofa but Jackie and me spoke the whole night, conversations flowed like the Carlsberg.

We didn’t sleep together but I thought, you know what, I think I’ve met the girl I’m going to marry…

and you know what I did the next day? I was so sure of it that I went out and got a tattoo of her name on my left bicep. ’

‘Mark…that is undeniably one of the loveliest love stories I’ve ever heard…’ I tell him, genuinely moved, but punching him in the leg.

‘Oh, it would be, except I got the names mixed up in the club. I thought her name was Lisa. So here…’ he tells me, pu lling up his sleeve that reveals in a rather lovely cursive font the word Lisa and I spit out my sangria in laughter. ‘Yeah, you can laugh now.’

I bend down to look at it more closely. ‘Didn’t you think to cover it up?’

‘God, no. Jackie thinks it’s bloody hilarious and that’s probably why her and me get on so well.

’ We sit there bellowing with laughter. ‘Take a punt, mate. She seems like a nice girl. But her name is Suzie, just in case you thought it was something else.’ I smirk.

He will never know what he just said, will he? ‘Jackie! Oi! BABES!’

Jackie shimmies over, drunk and uncoordinated. ‘Why aren’t you dancing, you boring twat?’ she asks her husband.

‘Because it’d show everyone up, you know?’ he says, winking at me. ‘I’m tired and need a shower. Let’s turn in.’

‘Already? It’s only eleven?’ she moans.

‘Only eleven? Normally at this time you’re sparko. Come on, bird. You can sort an old fella out.’

‘Around the kids?’ she replies. ‘How rude.’

‘I’ll show you rude.’ Whilst I don’t want to really picture what they’re talking about, I do smile at the ease of the banter, the way her eyes twinkle when she talks to her husband.

That’s spark too, isn’t it? Mark turns to me.

‘Right, I’m giving you a segue, young Charlie.

Don’t waste this. I’ll cut off Lee in the foyer so he doesn’t interrupt you,’ he says saluting me.

I salute back. ‘But…’

‘Name your first child after me, please?’ he says, winking at me, his wife pulling him off the plastic chair with both hands. ‘You sounded like you were hauling up a sack of potatoes there…’ he tells Jackie.

‘Ain’t that the truth though?’ she jokes, and they put their hands around each other, staggering away.