Hen Party

By Hilary Coombes

As the survivor of a terrible childhood, Bern has always lived her stormy, flamboyant life as a fighter.

Now in her fifties, organising a hen party in the popular Spanish resort of Benidorm is easy, but booking a party also means she must deal with the consequences when one of her companions reveals a secret that has repercussions for ev

• Language: English
• Publisher: U P Publications Ltd
• Release date: Jan 30, 2016
• ISBN: 9781908135414

Hilary Coombes

Hilary Coombes was born in Devon and brought up in Bristol. After juggling family and studying for university as a mature student, she taught in various schools and colleges, eventually specialising in teaching blind students. She now lives between Somerset and Spain with her husband. All her previous books are non-fiction (boring, she says, compared with the joy of writing a 'proper' story). www.hilarycoombes.info

Book preview

1 IN THE EARLY HOURS

It was still dark. In the dim light of the police cell Bern, had she been interested, could have seen that her beautiful, white wedding dress was now the perfect prop for a horror movie. It was torn, splashed with blood and shaded grey with large areas of dirt and mud splattered all over it.

Her cheeks were no longer wet and the dried salt around her eyes made the skin feel taut and uncomfortable. Streaks of black eye make-up were clearly visible down her dirty face.

Had she looked she would have also seen that the 6 x 8 foot room contained only the concrete slab and the mattress where sleep had evaded her. There was a grey blanket and an undersized, grubby pillow. An old stoneware toilet stood in the corner and there was a bottle of drinking water on a concrete shelf near the small, cracked sink.

Along the corridor sleep had not visited Emma her bridesmaid either. She kneeled, holding her throbbing head over the stoneware toilet with the smell of vomit pervading the room. She wondered why she wasn’t wearing pants and why her shoes were missing but the way her stomach lurched quashed any serious thought on the mystery.

Neither of them had had any success trying to explain to the police officers what had happened. Their lack of Spanish coupled with their alcoholic stupor had made it impossible.

Had their friends known that they were safe it would have eased their worry but, as it was, Paul and Carol had no idea and were still pacing the streets in the rain looking for them.

2 BERN REMEMBERS

Bern longed for something different to drink when the policewoman brought her a sandwich and a cold bottle of spring water next morning.

As the door banged shut she grabbed the bottle and spoke to the empty room. Cussin-hell, I could murder for a beer. She shuddered, thinking better of her words.

Nobody had been near her cell all morning and the silence was killing her. By nature, Bern was one of those people who could go anywhere and be talking to someone within minutes. It was her way of blocking out the real world. Quietness allowed depression and memories to emerge and she didn’t like it.

Sitting in this cell gave her plenty of time to think, normally something she strived to avoid. She fought hard to stop the memories surfacing but now, as back then, her father had the upper hand. Even the thought of him made her spit contemptuously on the cell floor.

He’d been a horrendous bully even when he was sober but his yelling and abuse usually started when he was drunk and he was drunk a lot. He would lock her in the bedroom along with her little brothers whenever he started belting their Mum but she heard everything – the shouting, the screams and the crying.

Her Mum’s sobbed pleas, mingled with the sound of the leather belt whipping across her tender skin, were something Bern never erased from her memory as much as she tried and the reason that she could not watch a game of badminton. The sound of the whipping shuttlecock was too much to bear.

When her Mum stopped howling she knew that it was probably because she had collapsed. Some mornings, if their father remembered to unlock the door, she’d find her crumpled in a heap with blood-stained clothes sticking to her. There were times when they were shut in their bedroom most of the day and it was some years before her little brother realised that normal people did not pee out of their bedroom window.

She hated school, everyone sitting prettily doing their class-work without a care in the world whilst she sat trying to ignore the yawning chasm champing within her stomach. The worry that her father would beat her, which he did from time to time, was also never far from her mind.

You’re a wicked, stupid girl Bernice Collingwood. He spat her name as if it were poison. You’re a little slut. Always will be. You’d best mend your ways for your own sake.

She’d learned never to speak when he was in this mood.

Yea, I can see you agree, you’re growing into a right little whore. He waved his clenched fist in her direction, Want some more of this do you? In later years the fact that he’d never punched her in the face was something for which she was grateful. Her beautiful white teeth were one of her biggest assets.

She did her best to hide any bruises and her father was very adroit with their placement, but sometimes if a teacher caught sight of a bruise peeping out from its hiding place they’d look disbelievingly at her when she fabricated why it had appeared.

She’d been astonished the day her Mum had met them all from school with a big suitcase.

Where are we going Mum? Are we going on a holiday? Tom, the middle brother had asked. Not that he really knew what a holiday was.

No, we’re not going on holiday Tom. Her mother had put her arms around them all. We’re going to live in a different house for a while. You’d like that wouldn’t you?

Yea. It’d be great. Micky now joined in. Do I get a bed of my own?

Maybe Micky, I’m not sure yet, but you don’t mind sharing with Tom do you?

Micky stuck his tongue out at his big brother. He takes up all the room Mum. It isn’t fair.

Is Dad coming? Bern asked quietly.

Bern still remembered the feeling of utter elation when her Mum shook her head. Life without him. What joy!

At first Bern was thrilled with their new life but her bubble of elation soon burst. They were often cold and hungry and there never seemed to be enough clean clothes but that was nothing new. The worst part was that her Mum now spent most of her time sitting in the chair and crying, something she’d never done before the move. One day Bern arrived home from school to find her huddled in a tight ball under the kitchen table.

What’s wrong Mum? She rushed to her side thinking that her father had visited.

A loud sob erupted from the little bent woman who looked way older than her forty years. Oh Bern. What am I going to do?

I don’t understand. We’re doing alright aren’t we? Bern put her arm around her Mum’s shoulder, which was an invitation to open the floodgates of despair.

Eventually the sobs subsided long enough for her Mum to stutter a few words. We’ve no money left Bern.

Bern stared incomprehensively at this wreck of a woman who’d given birth to her. How? No. What? What do you mean Mum, no money?

I stole the money to come here. I felt he owed us. He never knew, he was always drunk. But it’s all gone. Every last penny.

But we’ve not been here that long!

Don’t look at me like that Bern. I tried, honestly I did, but what with not being able to get work, and then the rent and trying to put food on the table, I …well! The tears started again.

Mum, it’s okay. Bern patted her Mum’s hand, Don’t cry, I’ll get some money. You’ll see. We can’t go back to live with him. We just can’t!

How are you going to get money Bern? You’re not old enough to get a job.

Just you wait and see Mum. I promise. You wait, it’ll all be okay. and with that she helped her Mum out from under the table wondering at the same time how on earth she was going to keep the promise."

At first she tried to get a job at the local greengrocers but no amount of make-up or handkerchiefs stuffed in a bra could make up the three-year gap between twelve and fifteen. Her attempts to work at the local factory suffered the same fate. She took a job as a papergirl, which meant she had to get out of bed at five-o’clock every morning to complete the early morning deliveries.

Every morning Jack Timmings gave her the same warning as he handed her the bag. My customers like to read their newspaper with their breakfast, so, you mind, no loitering about on the way ‘cos I’ll get to hear about it, never you fear. She staggered under the weight of the bag but she knew that it was as light as a feather compared with the evening delivery after school.

Bern stole food from the corner shop as often as she dared, and the old lady who lived on the ground floor of the house would sometimes slip her a loaf of bread, or a tin of baked beans, as she passed. They survived. Somehow. However, the rent was a month in arrears and there was no sign of her Mum getting work. She was always scared that her father would find them and one day, of course, he did.

As she was leaving the school to walk home she saw his big familiar frame waiting for her.

Well, well. Who have we here? He twisted her ear painfully as he pretended to hug her lovingly with the other arm. Where has my lovely daughter been hiding herself then?

Nowhere Dad.

He increased the twist making sure that nobody could see. Her front tooth bit through her lip and a little droplet of blood trickled down her chin.

She’d felt guilty about revealing their hiding place but at the time she’d had very little choice.

Home life with her father very quickly resumed its normal pattern with the exception that her Mum no longer cried or howled when she was beaten. She’d rock back and forth on the spot and sing loudly about Jesus. This unhinged her father and he switched from beating her Mum to drunken bouts of breaking up the furniture instead.

As the weeks passed her Mum changed in other ways too. The first time she cowered in the corner, insisting that there was a lion in the kitchen, had frightened Bern but it soon became a regular occurrence and she discovered that, by pretending to shoo the imaginary beast away, her Mum would gradually stop shaking and shuffle out of the corner.

Bern had become used to the episodes of uncontrollable crying but the alarm she felt when her Mum became aggressive and started arguing with invisible people was something she never became accustomed to. It filled her with dread.

Coping with the constant struggle of providing something to eat, coupled with her conflict of emotion and confusion, Bern felt trapped. School, once a hated part of her life became her refuge. At least nobody made demands on her there and some of the teachers were quite kind really.

It was shortly after her thirteenth birthday that her life sank to the most horrific abyss imaginable. She had been swimming with the school that day and she liked swimming because, despite the other children laughing at her swimming costume, it enabled her to get into water. Chlorine water was better than no water and washing the body to keep clean was a constant problem. Since her periods had started she didn’t need to be called ‘stinky Bernie’ to know that her bodily odours had become far worse.

While her father slept, the night before, she had pinched some money from his jacket pocket so she was able to buy a loaf of bread on her way home from the swimming baths. There hadn’t been enough to stretch to much else so, at the same time, she’d stolen a packet of sausages.

Wow that was great Sis, Tom had said as he rubbed his stomach, which felt full to bursting point.

Yea, you’re a good cook. Can you do it every night please? Mickey grinned from ear to ear. Something rare indeed, for he was normally a whining scrap of a boy.

Eight o’clock saw everyone in a good mood, even her Mum carried on a sensible conversation for part of the evening, a bonus indeed. Added to which, on that evening, Bern felt a wonderful feeling of cleanliness. She went to bed feeling good for once.

Throughout her young life she’d been teased at school about most things. If it wasn’t her clothes it was her hair or her family, in fact nothing was sacred but it had never developed into the next step, bullying. There was something about Bern that forbade anyone to take that step.

On that particular day, one of the boys in her class had shouted across the playground to her. Hey, stinky Bernie, did you know that your dad is getting a bit of pussy elsewhere! At the time she had no idea what this meant but she gave him chase anyway because, odds-on, it was an insult.

Her father hardly ever rolled home until late at night, if at all. Sometimes the reek of beer wafted through her bedroom door as he passed, but on this particular night the smell didn’t pass. It invaded her bedroom.

Her nostril was the first thing to be assaulted as he pressed his filthy beer and tobacco perfumed hand across her mouth.

The smell of his breath was even worse. Don’t speak. Don’t even whisper or I’ll break yer neck.

She was completely clueless as to what was happening but she nodded, too terrified to do anything else. He removed his hand and in the moonlight she saw his expressionless, dark eyes and menacing grin leering at her. He began to remove his trousers.

She sucked in breath. What are you … she was unable to finish the sentence for his huge hand once more pressed heavily on her mouth.

Shut it! he hissed as the pain of his grip flooded her cheeks.

He roughly hiked up her nightie. His body-weight, on top of her, squeezed every drop of air out of her lungs and she struggled to breathe. She was terrified and afraid to cry out but, even if she did, who was there to help her? Not her younger brothers; they’d be no match for him, besides which they’d be in danger if they even tried.

It felt like being ripped apart as he pushed his penis roughly into her dry vagina. His penetration was as quick as a speeding train entering a tunnel and she bit her lip in pain as he tore back and forth, in and out of her.

Eventually a huge moan escaped from his lips and he stopped rocking. Within minutes he’d rolled off her and stumbled out of the room. She lay still unable to move, unable to cry, locked in her hurt.

She never told anyone about that night or the nights that followed. She was too ashamed, but it changed her forever. She’d lost part of herself that she could never get back. If only she could have crawled into herself, never to face the world again, she would have been happy. As it was she had no choice but to cope with the harshness of her life.

She had come of age that night and she survived the many similar nights to come, by denial. Whenever her father visited her bedroom over the coming months she lay inert, emotionless and detached. She stared straight ahead waiting for him to finish and leave. The passivity of her body hid the activeness of her mind for, as time passed, she vowed to herself that nobody would ever dominate her or hurt her again.

From the nightmare of her early teens was born resilience. It also gave birth to the life-long revulsion she felt towards most of the men she ever met. The gift that her father had given her was on display for all to see, and her cloak of toughness and detachment became her strength.

Allowing memories of those times to rise to the surface meant that the next time the policewoman opened the cell door the sobbing body and tears of regret revealed a side of Bern that was rarely allowed to escape, and nobody had ever witnessed.

The policewoman had been going to take her to an interview room but in view of her obvious distress she quietly relocked the door and left her to herself.

3 THE BRIDE IN THE BAR

As the policewoman turned the lock on Bern’s cell, her friends were sitting in the hotel reception area discussing what to do about their missing colleagues.

I really think we should go to the police, Paul. They’ve been missing all night.

It’s still early, Paul smiled wanly. Look, let’s put ourselves in their position. Let’s imagine that they made it with those men they met.

Carol shuddered at the very thought. You’ve forgotten what those men were like, haven’t you?

Paul tenderly fingered the discolouring blue skin around his eye socket and looked directly at Carol. You think?

Carol’s hand fled to cover her mouth. Oh of course Paul. I’m sorry.

So let’s say they got on with the men. Pretend. Go with it for a minute. Carol nodded. If they had a good time with them, spent the night with them, well that’s good isn’t it? Both Bern and Emma are adults, all grown up. They’re on holiday, having sex, having a bit of fun, doing something different. Isn’t that what holidays are all about? I doubt they’ve even woken up yet. You see, they’ll roll in here, early afternoon, full of stories of their night of depravity.

Yes, I do understand what you’re saying Paul. Carol pressed her lips together, but Emma is such an innocent.

How do you know? Paul raised his eyebrows. Anyway, she was with Bern and you wouldn’t describe Bern as an innocent would you. No, I feel sure Bern would look out for Emma if need be. Let’s wait for a few more hours before going to the police shall we? I don’t think they’d take us seriously yet anyway.

Do you really think that they’re okay?

Yes I do. I tell you what – if they’re not back at the hotel by two o’clock this afternoon, then we’ll act. Alright?

Carol sighed, Okay. But this all started out so differently. Looking back, it was fun in the bar last night wasn’t it?

Paul nodded but was perplexed and wondered whether Carol had remembered the same things that he had. Still he had no wish to disagree. So, why don’t we go and lie out on one of those comfortable-looking sunbeds by the pool this morning and remember our first evening in Spain. Shall we?

It was another half-an-hour before two sun-creamed, suitably clad Brits were side by side on the towelled sunbeds. Not wearing your flashing bow tie I see! Carol teased.

Paul smiled at the memory. No. Never again.

The night before it had been the first thing Carol noticed as she entered the bar. At the time she’d suspected that he had no idea how silly he looked, but then who was she to talk.

She had glanced at her bright pink ‘Sexy Hen’ tee shirt that she knew matched exactly the pink cowboy hat, which sported the slogan ‘Party Bitch’ and had asked How are things?

Don’t ask! his eyebrows were held low and there was a slight red blush on his cheeks. I feel a right idiot with this stupid cowboy hat and flashing bowtie. I’m living in hope that this rum mixed with white wine will have some effect.

Carol had flashed her free drinks bracelet at the barman. Apple juice and soda please. No ice.

No alcohol? Paul queried. It’s free.

Carol grinned, To be honest I don’t feel much like it. I’m thirsty.

They were on their second round of drinks when the entire bar fell into silence as all eyes turned to the door.

Da-Dah! We’re here folks! Bern had announced unnecessarily.

We’d noticed, Paul hissed, without taking his eyes off the overweight fully-clad bride standing in the doorway, with one petite but rather sheepish bridesmaid holding the bridal veil.

Do you like the outfits? Bern asked, after their exaggeratedly slow parade across the bar floor. Two pairs of incredulous eyes said it all. The wedding dress did nothing for Bern’s rather generous bulk, and the copious amounts of make-up easily added ten years to her existing fifty.

Eventually Paul broke the silence. How on earth did you get that into your suitcase? It must have taken up all the room, and it must have cost a f…

Paul! Bern interrupted. Have some sense! This is a sad, charity-shop version. I’m hardly likely to wear the real thing am I? Think about it.

Our dresses roll up really small, Emma smiled hoping to diffuse the developing situation. My dress is too big and it came with a huge stiff underskirt so I left that bit behind and everything fitted in easily.

It doesn’t look too big. Carol commented.

Well, it is. Emma raised her slim, young arms to show safety-pins down the sides and towards the back of the dress.

Carol fingered the pins. Well, you’d never know. Not from a distance that is.

Paul had obviously had enough of this wedding paraphernalia talk and stood up. Well I’m famished, let’s eat.

Dinner was not a quiet meal. The amused Spanish waiters were all smiles, mainly for Bern who waved cheerfully and grinned from ear to ear. Other diners were full of questions; the most common being when was the wedding? Bern batted back answers with glee. She was in her element and they all silently admitted that being the centre of attention suited Bern perfectly. Okay ladies, and Paul of course, Bern nodded in his direction. First night. All dressed up. Where are we off then? I suggest a night club.

Carol quickly piped up. I thought we’d be having a coffee in the lounge and an early night. It’s been a long day.

Cussin-hell Carol! You certainly are a party animal if ever there was one, Bern said accusingly. Hope you’re not going to be like this all holiday.

Paul, ever the peacemaker, quickly held up his hands. Ladies! Ladies! Let’s compromise. I expect we’re all a bit tired as it has been a long day but on the other hand look at us. It would be a shame to waste all the effort that went into getting ready for tonight, and I for one have no intention of wearing any of this stuff ever again after tonight.

Bern smiled flirtatiously, which was a sure sign that the copious amount of red wine was working, for she’d never found Paul remotely attractive before. You’re not so bad after all Paul Higson. What do you suggest my man, a night on the town?

No, no. Let’s save that for another night. I think a stroll down to the sea, perhaps a saunter along the prom, followed by a nice cappuccino and maybe a glass of brandy in some little bar?

To be honest it pleased everyone more than Paul had expected. Their hotel was only five minutes away from the beach and the sound of the sea and the warmth of the air soothed everyone. He even heard Carol, who had been a little odd and preoccupied of late, humming to herself.

There were lots of people sauntering along the prom who admired the bride and bridesmaid and of course Bern and Emma were in their element. Paul and Carol were the back players in this little drama and from time to time they found it amusing to turn and watch the antics of the two wannabe stars.

Paul eventually interrupted their silent procession. Hey Carol, penny for your thoughts. You’re dawdling along in such silence that I want to know what you’re plotting.

Oh nothing much. I’ve just been thinking about things, nothing exciting, she shrugged and fixed a smile. Isn’t it relaxing to be here in the warmth of this lovely evening?

Yea, it’s going to be great providing none of us give in to Bern’s bossy dominance. We’ll have to keep a special eye that Emma doesn’t become her lackey.

Carol nodded. Yes, I’m afraid Emma’s often a pushover. Shame really because she’s such a nice person.

Paul changed the subject. "I think we all need this holiday for one reason or another. I don’t think any of us has had a particularly good year so far do you?

No. No, that’s for sure. Carol sharply sucked in air between her teeth, and then hesitatingly added, I think maybe Bern has bucked the trend. Doesn’t she always seem to have a good time? She’s got such a lot of confidence. Sometimes I’d like to be her.

Perhaps not tonight. Paul smirked as he indicated over his shoulder. She’ll maybe be a little worse for wear in the morning.

Carol looked behind to see Bern and Emma clowning around with half a dozen men around them; two of the men were helping an inebriated Emma stagger along. Even from that distance