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What do you think of my story?

I apologise for the length of this question! I am a 13 year old girl. I was wondering what everyone thinks of my story opening Thanks! Constructive critisism would be appreciated, but nothing on punctuation or grammar please!

PROLOGUE
I push the Cheerio’s around in the bowl, liking how it sounds. Listening is definitely more interesting than tasting, I think to myself. I listen to the sound of Cheerio’s slopping into the bin, and smile. That smile is wrenched off of my face as Hannah enters the kitchen, fully dressed. “Elisabeth! What are you doing? You’re supposed to eat the Cheerio’s. If you don’t want them, don’t take them, it’s such a waste of food. We can’t keep buying things if you’re just going to waste them!” Hannah screeches.
“It’s one bowl of Cheerio’s, Hannah. It’s hardly going to feed all the kids in Africa,” I smirk. At that moment, Dad saunters into the kitchen. He is blatantly still half asleep. After flicking the kettle on, he turns to me and Hannah.
“Good morning, my darlings,” he smiles, failing to sense the tension between the two. I half-smile back, and Hannah kisses him on the lips.
I climb the stairs two at a time and upon reaching my bedroom I shut the door behind me. Every time I see dad kissing someone that isn’t me, Tom, or someone else in the family, it makes me feel sick. I have told him this on numerous occasions, but each time, he says the same thing: “Hannah is part of the family now, darling, you’ll have to get used to it!” I always used to reply with something clever, along the lines of, “Hannah isn’t actually part of the family until you get married,” to which Dad would roll his eyes and walk away. Anyway, that one doesn’t really work anymore, seeing as the two were married last month.
Now they are married, everyone expects me to think of Hannah as my mother. Of course I don’t. Hannah isn’t a patch on my mum. She’s got this wispy, mousey brown hair, hazel eyes and quite pale skin. She’s also really short, I mean, 5”2 short. My mum had gorgeous, shiny, vibrant red hair, bright green eyes, and pale white skin. She was about 5”9, and just about the most beautiful woman I have ever set eyes upon. My granddad told my dad, many a time that he’d have to watch out for her, as her beauty made her vulnerable. I struggle to figure out how Dad could settle for Hannah, when my mum had once been his. Every time he looks into her eyes, I am sure it must be a reminder to him of who he has lost.
Or rather, who was stolen from him.

CHAPTER 1
A gentle breeze sweeps Loh Dalam Beach of Phi Phi Island, Thailand. The golden sun shines brightly in the warm blue sky. Brits and Americans relax on the shore, the faint smell of sun lotion and ice cream can be smelt and the sound of the sea can be heard. Happiness can be tasted in the air. It is 1978.
Cathy and Sarah sit in a bar, chatting and joking over cocktails. The bar (Sunshine Beach Bar) is on the sea front, opposite the beach. Cathy is wearing a pretty blue swimsuit and Sarah is hugging her towel to her chest, covering her white and green polka dot bikini. The two are attracting a lot of attention, Cathy with her wavy blonde hair, blue eyes and tanned skin, Sarah with her beautiful red hair, green eyes and never-tanning, pale skin. Two men approach them. One has dark hair and dark eyes, he looks Mediterranean; Italian maybe, the other looks younger, he has brown hair and blue eyes. He wears glasses and looks like a student.
The group talk and drink for a while. They discuss backgrounds and occupations, love, money, Thailand, and establish that each is single. They move on to the beach, where they sunbathe, swim and talk some more. By the end of the day, they feel like they have made new friends. The time comes when Francesco and Billy decide to leave. Cathy and Sarah retire to the hotel in which they are staying. They’ll be picked up at eight.
Sarah sips her vodka and coke with great difficulty. Even she, with the nonchalant personality, cannot help but smirk at Cathy’s slurred karaoke attempts. Billy is sitting to her right. He cannot control his laughter either. Francesco sits to her left; he is smirking slightly, and sipping his drink with little difficulty.