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‘It’s really sweet how they named it after you,’ I say, remembering how crammed full of people it used to be. Tourists coming from up and down the coast to eat there. I know this for a fact, as it is always number one on TripAdvisor. ‘Your parents must be really proud of you.’

Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen blinks at me. ‘My family is… Our relationship is muy complicada.’

Ava and I exchange a look.

‘Aren’t they all?’ I say.

* * *

The three of us walk in awkward silence towards the main promenade, taking in its beautifully clean stretch of ornate paving, lined with pretty streetlamps and palm trees every few feet. The white pebbled beach gleams as it reflects the late evening sunshine. Our parents picked a lovely spot for their holiday villa.

As if reading my thoughts, Ava sighs happily. ‘I’ve always loved this place. It’s so soothing.’

She’s right. The mountains surrounding this bay slope gently down towards the sea. The lush green land between is dotted with white villas, and the skyline is dominated by the magnificent cobalt-blue tiles of the church dome, high up on a hill, overlooking the marina. We would often walk up the cobbled streets of the whitewashed village to the church, to drink in the atmosphere, listen to the live music and watch the artists draw cartoon caricatures of tourists. The four of us would eat tapas in one of the many lively restaurants that line the square. I catch my sister’s eye. I think we are sharing the same happy memories.

I hastily look away.

Once we reach La Bella Maria, we see a queue out of the door.

‘It looks full,’ observes my sister. ‘What a shame.’

We are startled by an almighty shriek from a crazed lady in an apron at the far end of the restaurant. I watch as the lady barges through the tables whooping and cheering, to scoop up Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen into an embarrassing hug, kissing her cheeks many times. You’d think she’d not seen her since she was a baby.

‘Your mother,’ I say knowingly to Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen, who glances across at us with a withered look. Even the diners around us stop eating to see what all the fuss is about. Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen is clearly uncomfortable and rapidly tells her mum in Spanish to calm down as she is making an embarrassing scene. Her mother laughs this off and continues to hold her face in both her hands, yelling, ‘Look who is here!’ over the diners to, presumably, her husband and other family members.

Out from the kitchen troop a line of chefs and kitchen staff ready to make a huge and unnecessary to-do over Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen. How stifling. I catch her eye and for the first time, we exchange a look of understanding. She eventually rolls her eyes, emits a little hiss and allows herself to be fussed over. I suffer a pang of nostalgia and regret. It has been too long since I last enjoyed interacting with my parents.

I hear my name being mentioned, breaking me from my thoughts. ‘This is Mees Weston.’ Suddenly, I am being launched at by this overly passionate family. People are kissing my cheeks and shaking my hand and speaking in pigeon-English to tell me how happy they are that at last their Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen has found a job that she is good at.

For a moment I almost choke. Good at? Good at? How on earth have they reached that conclusion? Then the penny drops. I flick her a look and she goes bright red. I listen as her parents praise me for training up their daughter to be a successful businesswoman.

‘We always knew she would run her own business one day. She’s just like her mama,’ Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen’s father says, looking proudly from his daughter to his wife.

I raise an eyebrow. For a split second, I am sorely tempted to burst this little bubble, this web of lies. I see Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen take in a sharp breath.

Like me, Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen has not been entirely honest with the people who should matter the most.

I turn to her family, and in Spanish, tell them that their daughter is indeed a valuable member of the partnership and announce that she will very soon be overhauling our accounts system, as well as creating a better online booking system which means we can expand our business. This elicits lots of ‘oohs’ and ‘aaaahs’. I receive a grateful look of thanks from Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen, which I return with a firm look of expectation.

She nods in understanding and acceptance. Well, I’m just going to assume that is what it is, as she can be very compliant at times, and I simply have no idea if she means it.

We are whisked through the restaurant to the private outside dining area. It is a small, square courtyard filled with tables covered in checked cloths, lined with trees covered in twinkling fairy lights and dominated by a fountain in the centre. I breathe in a nostril of the delicious Italian cuisine filling the air. The scene before us is breath-takingly pretty.

‘Wow,’ my sister and I say together. Ava gives me a little embarrassed look. When we were kids, we always said things in unison, despite the age gap. She’d follow me around everywhere. A sign of our closeness.

All the men in white overalls and chefs’ hats disappear, leaving Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen’s mother to usher us to a glorious table by the fountain.

‘On the house!’ she beams at me, grinning away and – I find this bit extremely, extremely embarrassing – taking my hands in hers and thanking me profusely for putting up with her daughter. I give Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen a confused look. Surely I misheard.

Her mother leans in close and whispers to me in Spanish that, if possible, could I get her daughter to stop ringing her every five minutes, as she has a busy restaurant to run. She winks at me and bustles off, wiping her hands on her apron as she trots into the kitchen and disappears out of sight.

‘What did she say?’ Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen demands.

‘Um… well, she said that she’s very proud of you, and she understands that her speaking with you during working hours is distracting you from running a successful business. So, she will speak to you when you get home after work. Face to face. Instead of every ten minutes during the day.’

I wait to see how Maria-José-Inmaculada-Carmen will react to this potentially devastating news.

I’m relieved to see her face light up.