"Addy!"

"Addy!"

"Addy!"

Sometimes, you just really hope that if you ignore someone long enough they'll go away. He can yell my name at the top of his lungs forever for all I care, I'm not moving.

"Addison!"

Okay, that was a low blow. Involuntarily my torso jerks up off the sand, and I glare my deadliest ice bitch glare at the culprit.

"That's not my name!"

"Well it's on your birth certificate and you answer to it so I guess it is!"

Mike leans over the railings, grinning up at me from the balcony. If he wasn't my brother, I would probably hate him. In somewhat contradictory fashion he often gets hated by me solely because he is my brother. It's a sister's prerogative to be contrary, keeps him on his toes.

"State your business and then bugger off."

"Do you care if I have a party tonight?"

What, he disturbed me for this? I never care! "No."

"Cool. I'll leave you to it." He makes a mock military salute at me and I scowl at his retreating back before flopping back down in the sand. I suppose I at least ought to be grateful that he asks.

You would think that when you live in the quietest corner of a nice and somewhat remote island and there's only one holiday apartment block within twenty miles, you would be able to do some sun worshipping uninterrupted. The whole point of us moving to Adora from the rainy shores of England was to get some peace and quiet and sunshine, so my Dad says (I think it also had something to do with Tony Blair being voted into Government but he refuses to admit that). I have had no such luck today; this must be about the fifth interruption within an hour.

First it was Antonio and Mariella wanting to know if I want to go to dinner tonight. I always want to go to dinner, but more to the point they already asked me last night and I said yes. Then one of my kids came bounding over and asked if I'd set any homework over the summer holidays - the whole point of summer holidays is that I am not a teacher for a few glorious weeks. Besides, school only let out last week; he can't have lost his homework diary already. Then it was a couple of lost tourists from the apartment block who were looking for the local bus stop (don't ask me why they were doing so on the beach) and then it was my dear darling brother. I just want to relax with nothing but the sound of the ocean and get a little tanning done - is it too much to ask?

Ahh, I pretend to complain but actually I love it. We've been here about eleven years now and I never get tired of it. It's beautiful, it's sunny, everybody in this little corner of the island knows everybody and it's a world away from everything I used to know. The buildings are all Spanish style and gleam in the sun. The sand is bleached practically white. Where we are you often find a dirt track in place of a sidewalk or pavement; the town's small enough that you can walk almost everywhere. I think the only thing that distinguishes it from all those perfect desert island Caribbean type places you see in movies is the fact the water isn't turquoise… but then the Mediterranean generally isn't so who cares?

My brother and I came of age and moved out into a gorgeous little beach front villa with very reasonable rent courtesy of my construction company owning Dad, as a teacher I'm basically getting paid for speaking English (which for a British person is like being paid to breathe) and if life is better anywhere in the world then I don't want to know about it because here just rocks.

"Hey Addy."

Well there goes my nice quiet afternoon. Oh well, life with Nina is nothing if not gossip filled so it's a fair trade.

"Hey Nina. What's the what?"

"Oh nothing. Taking lots of phone calls from people who don't understand that the water parks are on the other side of the island and that this is not the place to come to for foam parties, calling fumigators, all fun stuff."

"Nice," I smirk.

On the other side of Adora (the cheesily named Playa del Sol) pretty much every resident you see is some part of the tourist trade, be it a hotelier or a souvenir shop owner, but this side is where the real natives live. Nina works in the one holiday block we have and it's specifically advertised as being the anti-tourist attraction for people who just want quiet. The island's small enough that it's not a world away from that kind of stuff if you want it; it's just a little more peaceful around here. As such, we mostly get retirement couples. They like it because it's quiet and the locals are friendly, so we get a lot of repeat visitors; they especially like bumping into my family because we make great translators.

Everybody speaks pretty good English, but there are some things that just never translate well. My friends talk to me in English much more than you might think they would, because they've got jobs where they can use the practice. I'm fluently bilingual anyway so Spanish isn't a problem, but I helpfully teach them how real English people actually talk rather than the textbook English they were taught in school that makes you sound overly formal and like a pod person. We usually wind up half and half whereas the older folks only tend to use Spanish. Either way, it comes in useful knowing two languages.

"So I hear your brother's throwing a fiesta tonight, is it worth going?" She asks.

"He's only going to play all that tuneless crap he brought back from America, I wouldn't bother."

I lied when I said this place was perfect - pretty much all the popular music around here is from the Latin scene. It isn't just music; the whole entertainment industry as I used to know it back home has pretty much passed this island by thus far. It's creeping in, but it's a slow process. When it's Jennifer Lopez there's a happy compromise, but my brother and I basically only get to pick up any mainstream music when we go back to England to see our grandmother. He went to New York for a vacation with his girlfriend and brought back a lot of rap music that really hurts my ears, I have a horrible suspicion he'll be playing it tonight. Also, on a similar vein, we have to wait forever for all the good British or American TV shows to start airing and internet access is slow to the point of being barely worth it.

Sometimes I do pine for life in a more technologically advanced place, but that would mean giving up my beach (not just any beach, my beach)... so I'm thinking no.

"Oh, okay. What are you doing then?"

"Dinner with Antonio and Mariella, I think Dante's coming too. You up for it?"

"Sign me up."

I taught her that one the other day and already she's using it in conversation, I'm so proud. "So who's dropping into our quiet little town this week?"

"Usual. Mr and Mrs Lowenstein are due to fly in tomorrow, we've got a honeymoon couple at the end of the week…"

"So they'll probably spend their time in their room or at Playa del Sol," I immediately say. She nods and rolls her eyes.

"And some chico arrived last night at about four or some ridiculous time. Carlotta says she thinks he was good looking but she was too sleepy to remember. Young. American. Hasn't come out of his apartment yet."

"Probably another one who didn't realise this is the quiet side," I shrug. We get that a lot, and then the result is that they either complain and demand money back (despite the constant warnings in the brochures that we are fairly isolated) or they just spend a lot of money on cab fare to and from where they erroneously thought they were going to be.

"Si. So Julio was thinking we should surf tomorrow."

"Excellent plan," I agree. I have to take these opportunities to socialise while I can.

Unfortunately none of my friends are teachers so while I have all this free vacation time they don't; I have to amuse myself a lot of the time while they're out earning. My brother is self employed, runs a financial advice company; he's free to make his own schedule all year round but he still can't spend every minute with me because he does occasionally have to do some actual work, so I'm told. Besides, living with him is quite enough without being attached at the hip. He's my brother and I love him, but not that much.

Of course, surfing tomorrow means actually remembering where I threw my board wax last time I used it, which was over a week ago. It's too sunny to have to think of such things, I might just have a nap instead.

**

I really wish they hadn't hung that mirror behind the desk in reception. Every time you walk in there it's like this swell of vanity rises up and you can't help constantly checking yourself out in it and panicking about your outfit. Since I am a girl and am already doomed to have had this panic at least six times in my own mirror at home, it's just not helping.

Eleven years in the sun has turned my naturally pale complexion into a healthy looking year round tan. I'm not quite the same colour as my friends - and can only get that colour if I burn first - but it's pretty much eradicated the need for any make up over than some mascara and gloss. I am paranoid that I'm going to wind up with skin cancer though, so I along with the tourists am the only reason that Señora Gonzales actually even stocks SPF. Between the tan and the dark hair and eyes I can sometimes actually pass for a genuine Adoran, but only to someone who doesn't live here. When you look properly you can still see that my features are of English rose and not exotic Latin origin - my face is a little too round and my cheekbones not as defined. Also, I have my Dad's squat British nose.

Looking at my watch, I sigh in exasperation. Nina should have been done with work an hour ago, why is she not here and ready to go to dinner as promised? We decided to drive out to this great Italian restaurant in one of the island's bigger hotels, but since we have to make a bit of a journey to get there leaving late is not the most helpful thing ever.

I'm interrupted in my tutting and eye rolling by the entry of a guy I can only assume is the Young American who hadn't left his apartment yet. Well, clearly he has now. He's not bad looking, nice face, but I'm guessing he'd probably look better without those big dark circles under his eyes. Still, I guess the jet lag between here and the States can't be much fun. We don't get a lot of Americans precisely because of where we are and how small we are - they tend to stick to mainland Europe or try the Canaries or Greek islands. We get overlooked. I'm trying to guess how old he is; he's clearly not still in college, he's older, but I'm not sure I'd bank on precisely how much older. He could easily be older or younger than he looks, his face doesn't give much away.

"Excuse me, do you speak English?" He asks with a nervous smile.

"Indeed I do," I respond.

"Umm, wow, you're English."

Of course, the accent still gives it away even if I might look like I belong in the Mediterranean. I love the way he just said that the same way you'd say 'you're a Martian.' "Born and raised in the Home Counties. You were expecting a native, I take it?"

"Yeah, you certainly look… I mean, not that I'd assume… sorry."

I'm kind of evil, but I love the way he's blushing. Watching people stick their foot in it when they try to explain their assumption that I'm Adoran is something I've yet to tire of. "It's okay, I get that a lot. Anyway, I assume you wanted to know for a reason?"

"Yeah, umm, sorry, do you work here?" He asks. He seems overly grateful for the way he threw him a get out of jail free card.

"Nope but I spend enough time here that I might as well, what do you need?"

"Food. I landed here at some insane hour of the morning and only woke up about an hour ago. My body has no concept of what time it is."

"In which case there's a tapas bar in town, if you're inclined to use the stove in your apartment and actually cook you can head over to the store and grab some stuff… though I'd suggest you do that anyway at some point for drinks and breakfast stuff. Or you can hop into a cab and go to Playa del Sol where they have about seven zillion restaurants. And McDonalds."

"What's Playa del Sol?" He asks. Oh boy, I'm thinking this guy did not do a lot of research before he came out here.

"It's the other side of the island, about forty minutes away depending on how badly your cab driver breaks the speed limit. It's the tourist spot, you know, all your standard souvenir shops and beach activities and water parks and such. It gets pretty busy there this time of year."

"Oh, okay." He looks oddly uncomfortable with that. "Maybe later in the week or something. I was looking for some quiet."

I try to smile encouragingly at him, but I'm afraid it might come out looking a little odd. No offence to the dude, I'm sure he's a nice guy, but he seems a little odd himself. "You definitely picked the right place. We're within reach of all the tourist stuff and the sight seeing buses but we don't get a lot of folk coming through here, the night life is all on the other side of the island."

Yes, that is definitely relief I see on his face. Maybe he's one of those weird sociopaths who can't be around people or something - if sociopath is the right word for that, which I suspect it isn't.

"Cool. So if all the night life is on the other side then what do y'all do for fun around here?"

He said 'y'all,' so I'm guessing he's from the South somewhere? Eh, I don't really know or care. "We make trips over there a lot, but mostly we just hang out here and spend a lot of time on the beach. The surf's really great out here."

Amazingly, he might have just perked up. "Is there somewhere to rent boards nearby?"

"Not unless you want to go all the way to del Sol, but Carlotta's son Dante has too many boards for one person and if you can convince him you're not a rank amateur he's been known to loan them to guests."

There's a light chuckle and his smile looks a little brighter this time. "I hold my own. So where's this store?"

He listens carefully as I give him the directions - you can't really miss the place, you'd have to be a moron not to make it from here. Still, you should never underestimate how dumb folk can be, especially when they arrive on vacation and switch their brains off.

The smile disappears and he looks utterly frightened when Nina bounds into the room yabbering in Español about the nightmare she just had trying to find a nice enough outfit for the restaurant. Thankfully Nina quickly works out he must be the 'Young American' and switches to English, but the boy does still look kind of scared. To be fair, Nina did just burst into the room talking with incredibly speed and volume; for all his clearly non-Spanish speaking self knew she'd just run in saying the volcano would erupt and we were all going to die. The volcano the island formed around has actually been extinct for years, but he didn't know that. He doesn't seem to know much about the place he's paid all this money to fly to.

"Well, thanks for the info, anyway," he tells me. "I guess I'll see you around."

"No problem. See you," I say to his retreating back.

"Carlotta was right. Good looking," Nina observes.

"Kind of strange, too," I muse out loud. "You ever known a guy his age come out here all alone and with no desire to go anywhere near any tourists?"

Her eyebrow arches up at me and she looks a little suspicious. "Lord, woman, how long were you talking to him?"

"Quality not quantity."

I just shrug it off and march her out of the door before she can delay our dinner any further. I'm now very hungry.