If you like Pina Coladas and getting caught in the rain...

Chapter 6: Mr and Mrs Miserable

"Come on, me and Nicole shouted back to Mischa as we stepped out of Puerto Plata airport. We stood waiting outside the automatic doors that led to Paradise as she struggled to push the trolley to meet us.
"It's bloody heavy, this trolley. One of you push it, I'm knackered! she ordered and put her hands on her hips. As she let go of the trolley, it rolled towards Nicole.
"That means you Nic, I said patting her on the shoulder before me and Mischa walked on ahead of her. "Be careful not to hurt your back!
"Woah woah woah, she called as she struggled to steer the contraption across the car park.
We left the airport to be greeted by four old Dominican men singing 'La Bamba' with old guitars and maracas. We cheerfully sang along as we walked over to our transfer to the hotel. The sun burned down on us instantly as we walked into the Caribbean, making us wish we were at the resort in our bikinis with a Pina Colada cocktail in each hand. Heaven! Instead we were heading to a stuffy old coach filled with about fifty other holiday makers.
"Welcome to Paradise, called the cheery rep in a southern American drawl. She was heavily tanned, bordering on orange with long, platinum blonde hair. Her nails and make up were perfect even in the thousand degree heat. We must have looked a sight as we climbed aboard with out outfits creased and our hair in desperate need of a pair of straighters. No make up and no sleep must have made us look like the walking dead.
"Hey there girls. Welcome, she greeted us. "What name is it?
"It's Adams, I confirmed as I accepted the welcome pack.
"Great, take a seat and enjoy the air conditioning. We will be leaving in approximately five Dominican minutes. We are just waiting for one more couple,
She had the biggest smile plastered to her face. It was probably stuck there with all the make up. We found some seats together and made ourselves comfortable.
"So what do you think? Mischa asked as she nodded towards the rep. "Prozac? Me and Nicole laughed in response.
"Definitely! We said in unison.

Mr and Mrs Miserable finally walked out of the airport. Mr. Miserable was dragging two giant suitcases behind him, whilst carrying a heavy looking holdall with his mouth. I turned to Nicole,
"They must have paid shit loads for all that luggage, I nodded in the direction of the designated bag carrier. He looked like Quasimodo hunched over pulling the ten tonne cases.
"Damn right. If I get charged, so should everyone else! She was still bitter about her excess weight fee. "I mean it was only an extra ten kilograms! I'm sure they could have just ignored it.
"Yeah¦ok then! I replied.
Quasimodo's face was bright red and his tight blue tank top was stained with sweat. His wife, walked quickly ahead of him without so much as looking back at her poor husband. He looked like he might collapse from exhaustion any minute, but she was too busy trying to get out of the heat before she overheated. They looked like the most miss-matched couple ever. He was five foot nothing wearing crop khaki combat pants and a tank top that hugged his well toned body. As he looked up to check where he was going, we realised he looked nothing like the hideous creature we had imagined. His jet black hair sat awkwardly on his head, and strands fell over his face and into his eyes. From this distance, he looked about twenty-five. She was considerably taller wearing a short denim skirt, a bright pink boob tube and pink stilettos. She dressed as if she were in her early twenties, but her face revealed her age to be more like thirty-five, going on sixty. Maybe it was due to years of sun bed abuse as she was very tan-tastic! Her badly dyed blonde hair was pulled back so tightly it looked as if she was trying to give herself a face lift. It certainly looked like age had not been kind to her at all!

As soon as the rest of the coach saw them walking in our direction, we heard mutters of, "It's about bloody time, and "We could have been there by now, as well as lots of 'tutting' in a typical British way. We were more intrigued, or rather, just being generally nosy, at what took them so long. They had got off the plane at the same time as us and all the luggage came out at the same time, so where had they been.
"I bet they were caught smuggling drugs in, Nicole speculated with a glisten of excitement in her eyes.
"Don't be so stupid. Why would they bother smuggling drugs on the way here? It makes more sense to smuggle them back, you Goomer! I corrected.
"Well, you never know. They might be crack heads desperate for a fix after a long flight, Nicole refused to let her wild theory go. "They might have got caught by those huge security men! Me and Mischa looked at each other in disbelief. The seven foot uniformed soul searchers waiting at customs were built like brick shit houses, but they were half asleep. I don't think they would have noticed if someone walked past carrying a giant inflatable gun, let alone someone trying to conceal drugs.
"It's possible! I've seen it on TV, she tried to convince us again.
"Well if it was on TV, it must be true, Mischa added sarcastically, followed by a glare off Nicole. We all went quiet for a minute just watching the couple.
"I bet they just lost a piece of luggage, Mischa, the logical one of the group added. Me and Nicole rolled our eyes.
"Or maybe, I started, "they were told to find coach number two ¦but they can't count, Nicole started laughing at my stupid idea.
"Yeah, or I bet they have been to every coach driver asking what number it is, but they can't speak Spanish! she added.
"Coach two? I put on a stupid sounding voice and mocked the missing couple.
"Dos? Nicole took the role of the Spanish coach driver.
"No, two! I emphasised each word as if the driver was deaf. We both started laughing at our imaginary situation.
"Clara, I can't believe you are taking the mick out of this couple when you went looking for coach number Steve last year, Mischa recalled with big grin on her face. It was typical of her to remember all the stupid and embarrassing things we did. This particular memory was from a staff Christmas party when we used to work together.
"Coach number Steve? Nicole asked in amusement.
"Yeah, me and Clara were really drunk¦
"Absolutely shit faced! I interrupted.
"And we rushed out of the party at midnight to find coach number Steve to take us back home from Manchester, Mischa continued.
"But we weren't leaving for another hour, so we fell asleep on the coach! I added laughing. "That was the night we found the abandoned bar, do you remember?
"Oh my God, yeah!
"No way, Nicole doubted.
"We did, I confirmed. "Free drinks!
"Did you get caught?
"Nope, I said proudly.
We carried on talking about all of our funny memories from over the years. Most of them being when we were drunk!

Silence fell as Mr and Mrs Miserable boarded the coach. All the chit chat stopped as everyone listened to find out what had happened. Mrs. Miserable's face was like thunder as she found the last two empty seats and threw her hand bag down. Mr. Miserable followed quite closely behind looking rather sheepish now as they were being watched by the rest of the holiday makers. He stood next to her waiting for her to sit down first, while cooling down under one of the fans. She turned to face him and hit him across the head with the welcome pack that she had just received from the rep.
"You complete tit! the wife scolded, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Trust you to get stopped at customs.
"Told you! Nicole whispered to me smugly, before I 'ssshhhh'ed' her so we could listen to what they were saying.
Mrs. Miserable carried on muttering to herself, obviously annoyed. There were a few smans from spectators of this domestic dispute. He stopped rubbing his head as his frown turned to a wide grin.
"I thought it was funny, he replied as he realised he had an audience. She punched him again in the arm and told him to shut up and sit down. He wisely did as he was told; you could tell who wore the trousers in this relationship.

A middle aged man with his girlfriend sat behind the last passengers on the coach. The man looked like a rugby player with huge muscles and no neck. His once blonde hair was going grey to reveal his age. He leaned forward and tapped Mr. Miserable on the shoulder, who turned to face this stranger, still with a big grin.
"Hi mate, I'm David he introduced, holding his hand out. "First time to the Dominican?
"Aye. You been here before? Mr. Miserable responded, accepting the hand shake. "Alex.
"Yeah, this is our third time here, he said pointing to his partner. She was tiny compared to him as she slept on his shoulder. She had long dark hair pulled back into a French twist and wore a delicate baby blue vest top with a white skirt. At a guess, she was in her early twenties.
"Really? It's that good eh?
"We love it, it's so relaxing. I was here first for my twenty fifth wedding anniversary, and then I met Kate and we have been every year since.
"We are actually here on our honeymoon. Got married two days ago, didn't we honey? Mr. Miserable nudged his new wife lovingly. "This is Fifi by the way. Her name was as tacky as her outfit.
"Don't touch me and don't speak to me Alex! Fifi growled. Mr. Miserable looked amused, and turned back to his new friend. They shared a knowing grin.
"She's still a bit upset about the whole customs thing, he explained. "I was given the Spanish Inquisition over a stupid joke I made.
"What joke?
"He decided to shout that he had some drugs in his bag, Mrs. Miserable suddenly announced with a stern look. "Needless to say they were not amused, and I wasn't either after being questioned for ages. I've never been so embarrassed!
There were little smans from the rest of the coach; they were obviously listening in to the conversation, just as we were.
"I knew drugs would be involved somewhere. We should have put money on it. You two owe me a drink now, Nicole beamed.
"I think that's the first thing we should do when we get there; get a beer! I decided.

Five minutes later, we left the airport.
"Alright! the cheery rep called over the microphone. "Now your holiday begins.
She told us all about herself and the Dominican Republic as we travelled the fifteen minutes to our resort, stopping at two other hotels on the way. We found out her name was Alice and she had been working here for five years. By the time we arrived at Puerto Plata Village, there were only twelve other guests left, including Mr and Mrs Miserable, David and Kate. Just our luck we would be stuck with them for the whole trip.