Pure Shores

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Veronica, June 2006

I never realised how much I missed going to the beach until I was lying on the golden sands of Ibiza, soaking up the warmth of the late morning sun while salty, sea air blew softly through my hair. When we lived in Claremont we had our pick of numerous beaches that stretched out along the coastline, we knew which ones were great for sun baking at versus which ones produced better waves, for when we'd want to go body boarding and on those stinking hot Summer nights, when we couldn't sleep, Bridget and I, along with so many others, would take a dip in the ocean baths to cool off. 

Beaches in London were nothing like what I had back in Claremont, the sand is hard and covered in tiny pebbles and the water is always flat. The beaches just appear dismal and uninviting against the often overcast sky. On those rare Summer days, when the weather did manage to produce a smidge of heat, I'd find myself dreaming of being able to visit an actual beach again.

"Mmm this is heaven." I mumbled to Sam as he rubbed sunscreen into my back. We'd only been here for a few hours but I'd already decided that I'd fallen in love with Ibiza. The resort we were staying in had its own private beach front, which was far from being secluded but certainly wasn't as crowded as the public beaches we'd driven pass from the airport. 

"I knew you'd love it here, a small slice of home for the weekend." Sam says, slipping a cheeky hand under the side of my bikini top pretending to cover the area in sunscreen while also trying to not get caught out by Shay and Bridget who are lying next to me on their own towels. 

Shay sits up, pulls the coconut oil out of her bag and starts covering her pale skin in the greasy, slick solution, in the hopes that the third layer will do what the last two layers have yet failed to produce. 

"You'll regret that when you're as red as a lobster by lunch time." Bridget warns her, snatching the coconut oil from Shay and reading the bottle. "It doesn't even provide any sun protection at all."

"It's the only hope I have of getting a tan." Shay protests, grabbing the bottle back. 

"Baby, you have Irish skin, you don't tan, you burn." Bridget points out, her own skin covered in thick sunscreen under a loose fitted kaftan and large, wide brimmed hat. 

"I want to go home nice and brown, I'm tired of being the palest." Shay sulks, holing out her arm to make the comparison in colour against my own lightly sun kissed skin. I'm outside, walking around London most days but even so, I'd still have more tone in my skin than Shay. 

"Shay, the spa here does fake tans, we'll just get one of those." I tell her, making her cheer up instantly. "Bridget's right though, you will burn if you don't put sunscreen on. Remember how crisp you got when we sunbathed in Hawaii?"

She takes the bottle of sunscreen out of Sam's hand and immediately begins lathering on thick over her exposed skin as if the memory of being red raw on the plane flight back to England is enough to frighten her into never wanting to experience that feeling ever again. 

"What are our plans for today anyway?" Shay asks us, attempting to shift the focus from herself.

"I saw in the lobby a brochure for a cruise around the island, it includes an open bar and food plus they make a stop so you can go snorkelling." I tell the others, hoping they will take up the suggestion. 

"You had me at open bar." Shayla giggles. 

"Can we hit up a club tonight?' Bridget asks. "I was reading on the plane that some clubs serve fish bowls for drinking and I want to try that so bad."

"Eww, with actual fish? That disgusting." Shayla cringes, pulling a face like she's trying to get a bitter taste out of her mouth, which makes me laugh.

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