Salou’s Sorrow: Siblings Ameiya and Ricardo Lost to Treacherous Waves in Beach Tragedy
The sun-kissed shores of Salou, a vibrant coastal gem on Spain’s Costa Dorada, have long been a beacon for families seeking respite from the grind of everyday life. With its golden sands, azure Mediterranean waters, and lively promenade lined with gelaterias and beachside chiringuitos, the resort town draws thousands of British holidaymakers each summer. L’Arrabassada Beach, more commonly known as Llarga Beach, stretches invitingly for over two kilometers, its gentle waves lapping at the feet of sunbathers under the watchful gaze of the nearby Hotel Best Negresco. It was here, on a balmy Tuesday evening in late July 2025, that joy curdled into unimaginable horror for one Birmingham family. What began as a simple plea for “one last swim” ended in the heartbreaking loss of two bright young lives—Ameiya Del-Brocco, 13, and her brother Ricardo Junior Del-Brocco, 11—swept away by the treacherous currents of the sea.
Ameiya and Ricardo Junior, affectionately called Maya and Jubs by those who loved them, were the eldest of six siblings in a close-knit family from Erdington, a working-class suburb in north Birmingham. Their parents, Shanice Del-Brocco, 31, and Ricardo Senior, also 31, had scrimped and saved for this trip—their first major overseas holiday as a complete family of eight. Five years earlier, Shanice and Ricardo had visited Salou without the children, returning with tales of sun-drenched days and salty sea air that ignited a spark of longing in their young ones. “They never forgot it,” Shanice would later recount through tears to family friends. “Maya and Jubs begged us to go back, this time all together. It was meant to be our dream come true.”
The Del-Broccos arrived in Salou in mid-July, checking into the family-friendly Best Negresco, a modest four-star hotel perched directly on Llarga Beach. The first week unfolded like a postcard: lazy mornings of paella and fresh churros on the terrace, afternoons building sandcastles with their younger brothers and sisters, and evenings strolling the bustling Carrer de Barcelona, where street performers juggled fire and the air hummed with laughter. Ameiya, a poised Year 8 student at North Birmingham Academy, blossomed under the Spanish sun. Tall and athletic, with a cascade of dark curls and eyes that sparkled with quiet determination, she was the family’s unofficial fashionista and track star. Her backpack bulged with sketchbooks filled with outfit designs inspired by TikTok influencers, and she dreamed of lacing up her spikes for the Olympics someday. “She was unapologetically herself,” her aunt Macalia Del-Brocco, 46, would say, her voice cracking. “Driven by being unique—sarcastic, thoughtful, a second mum to her little ones. She’d organize games for the younger kids, making sure everyone felt included.”
Ricardo Junior, or Jubs as everyone called him, was the counterpoint to his sister’s intensity—a whirlwind of energy at just 11 years old, entering Year 7 with the boundless curiosity of childhood. Short and sturdy, with a gap-toothed grin that could disarm the grumpiest relative, he was the family’s jester, always plotting his next prank or filming silly skits on his tablet. His ultimate ambition? To become a famous YouTuber, churning out videos of gaming walkthroughs and “day in the life” vlogs that captured his infectious optimism. “He was the softest, sweetest boy,” Macalia recalled. “Playful and kind, always smiling, doting on his mum. He’d do anything for a few quid—washing cars or running errands—just to buy sweets for his siblings.” On the beach, Jubs was a force of nature, body-surfing waves and challenging his dad to splash fights, his laughter echoing like the gulls overhead.
As the holiday neared its end, the family savored every moment, aware that the return to Birmingham’s drizzle loomed. On July 29, with flights booked for the next day, the mood was bittersweet. The younger children, exhausted from a day of paddleboarding, napped in the hotel room while Shanice took one of the toddlers to the restroom. Ameiya and Ricardo Junior, tanned and exhilarated, turned to their father with pleading eyes. “Dad, one last swim?” Jubs implored, bouncing on his toes. Maya nodded eagerly, her swimsuit already on, towel slung over her shoulder. Ricardo Senior, a lorry driver back home with a protective streak a mile wide, hesitated only a moment. The beach was bathed in the golden hues of late afternoon, the sea looking deceptively calm. “Alright, but stay close,” he said, grabbing his own towel. The trio ambled down to the water’s edge, the siblings splashing in first, their giggles carried on the breeze.
What happened next unfolded in a blur of panic and primal instinct, pieced together from eyewitness accounts and the raw testimonies of survivors. Llarga Beach, for all its allure, harbors hidden dangers. The Mediterranean here is notorious for “bailando”—dancing currents—that form rip tides, funneling swimmers seaward with ruthless efficiency. Local authorities had posted red flags earlier that day, warning of hazardous conditions after a morning of strong onshore winds. But as evening approached, the flags came down around 8 p.m., signaling to many that the waters were safe. Jose Luis Gargallo, head of Salou’s local police, later explained: “There were three people having serious difficulty getting out of the sea. The currents can turn without warning, especially near the harbor mouth where the beach meets deeper waters.”
Ricardo Senior watched his children wade deeper, their heads bobbing like buoys. At first, it was playful—arms waving, voices calling out challenges. Then, abruptly, Maya’s strokes faltered. “Dad!” she shouted, her voice laced with uncharacteristic fear. Jubs, sensing the shift, thrashed beside her, his small frame no match for the pull. Ricardo dove in without a second thought, battling the frothing waves to reach them. He grabbed Maya’s hand, urging her toward shore, but the current dragged them all under. Eyewitnesses—a group of German tourists on sun loungers—recalled hearing frantic cries around 8:45 p.m. “The father was screaming for help,” one woman told reporters, her face pale. “The boy disappeared first, then the girl. It was chaos—people running, phones out calling emergency services.”
The alarm pierced the evening calm. Lifeguards, off-duty but nearby, sprinted to the scene, joined by paramedics and civil protection teams from Tarragona. A helicopter whirred overhead, its spotlight slicing through the twilight as divers plunged into the surf. Ricardo Senior was hauled out first, unconscious and battered, his body a map of bruises from the rocks. Paramedics pumped seawater from his lungs, stabilizing him with oxygen before rushing him to Allevaire Hospital. There, doctors diagnosed a severe concussion, but miraculously, he stabilized. Maya was next, pulled limp from the waves 50 meters offshore. Despite frenzied CPR on the sand, her pulse never returned. Jubs, the youngest, was airlifted to a specialist unit in Reus, his tiny form intubated and fighting. For agonizing hours, the family clung to hope—Shanice, alerted by a hotel staffer, collapsed at the beachside, surrounded by strangers offering halting words of comfort. But by midnight, the news came: Jubs had slipped away, his resilient spirit extinguished.
Word spread like wildfire through the hotel corridors and onto social media. By dawn, British expat groups in Catalonia were mobilizing, ferrying Shanice to the hospital where Ricardo lay in a daze. “They’re numb,” cousin Holly Marquis-Johnson told journalists outside the ward. “Holding each other up, but shattered. Nothing prepares you for this.” Back in Birmingham, the extended family—grandparents, aunts, uncles—rallied in disbelief. Macalia Del-Brocco, chain-smoking on her Erdington doorstep, fielded calls from neighbors bearing casseroles and condolences. “It was their first big trip,” she said, staring at a photo of the siblings on the beach, arms linked, grins wide. “They were so excited. Now… this void.”
The tragedy’s ripple effects extended far beyond the family. In Salou, a somber pall fell over Llarga Beach the next morning. Red flags flew at half-mast, and locals laid flowers at the waterline—white lilies mingling with handwritten notes in English and Catalan: “Descansad en paz, pequeños ángeles.” Spanish authorities launched an investigation, scrutinizing lifeguard protocols and flag timings. “Coastguards left 43 minutes before the incident,” Holly noted in the GoFundMe she helped launch, her words a quiet indictment amid grief. The page, titled “Bringing Maya and Jubs Home,” exploded with support, surpassing £40,000 within days. Donors from across the UK and Spain poured in messages: “From one parent to another—my heart breaks for you.” Funds would cover repatriation costs— a grim logistics of paperwork, flights, and funerals—plus counseling for the surviving children, now orphaned of their eldest protectors.
In Birmingham, the community embraced the Del-Broccos like kin. North Birmingham Academy dimmed its lights for a vigil, classmates releasing balloons etched with Maya’s favorite quotes: “Be uniquely you.” Jubs’s gaming club screened his amateur YouTube clips, his voice—high and earnest—filling the gym with echoes of what might have been. Shanice, emerging from her haze, spoke haltingly to ITV reporters: “They were hilarious, sensitive, loving—the best big brother and sister. Maya with her dreams of gold medals, Jubs with his camera always rolling. We came for memories; we leave with scars.” Ricardo Senior, discharged with bandages and a limp, added softly: “I tried. God, I tried. But the sea… it took them.”
As August waned, Salou’s beaches buzzed anew with oblivious tourists, but for the Del-Broccos, the sorrow lingered like salt on skin. Psychologists dispatched from the British Consulate in Barcelona worked tirelessly with the family, unpacking the layers of survivor’s guilt and “what ifs.” Shanice confided in a support group: “Every wave crashes like a reminder. But they wouldn’t want us drowning in it.” Memorial plans took shape—a joint service in Erdington, perhaps with Maya’s running shoes at the altar and Jubs’s tablet playing his videos on loop. Cousins vowed to carry their legacies: one girl vowing to run the London Marathon in Maya’s honor, a boy starting a YouTube channel for underprivileged kids, “Jubs-style.”
Salou’s sorrow serves as a stark reminder of the sea’s dual nature—nurturer and devourer. For every family frolicking in its embrace, there’s a shadow story of loss, etched in red flags and rip currents. The Del-Broccos’ tragedy, raw and unrelenting, underscores the fragility of joy. Yet amid the wreckage, glimmers of resilience emerge: a mother’s quiet resolve to hug her remaining children tighter, a father’s determination to heal for them. Ameiya and Ricardo Junior, gone too soon, leave a legacy not of waves that claimed them, but of the light they cast—bright, unyielding, forever rippling outward
