**Diary Entry 12th June**
I expected turbulence on the flight, not in my marriage. One moment, we were wrestling nappy bags and boarding with our twin toddlersthe next, my husband vanished behind the curtain into business class, leaving me drowning in chaos.
Ever had that nagging suspicion your other half is about to do something utterly daft, but you dismiss it? That was me at Heathrow Terminal 3, nappies spilling from my pockets, one twin strapped to me, the other chewing my sunglasses.
This was meant to be our first proper family holidayme, James, and our 18-month-old twins, Poppy and Alfie. We were flying to Spain to visit his parents in their sunny retirement villa near Malaga. His dad had been counting the days, video-calling so often Alfie now calls every silver-haired bloke “Grandad.”
We were already loaded like pack mulesnappy bags, pushchairs, car seats, the lot. Then James leaned in and muttered, “Just need to check something,” before slipping off to the counter.
Did I suspect? Not a chance. I was too busy praying no nappy disasters struck before takeoff.
Then boarding began.
The gate agent scanned his ticket, beamed, and James turned to me with that smug grin. “Love, I snagged an upgrade. Youll manage the kids, yeah? See you on the other side.”
I laughed. Surely a joke.
It wasnt.
Before I could blink, he pecked my cheek and strutted into business like some traitorous lord. Meanwhile, I stood there with two writhing toddlers and a collapsing pushchair, unravelling in front of the entire queue.
He thought hed won. Karma had other plans.
By the time I squeezed into seat 24B, I was sweating through my jumper, both twins were brawling over a sippy cup, and my patience had run thinner than airline tea. Poppy dumped Ribena in my lap.
“Brilliant,” I muttered, dabbing at it with a soggy muslin.
The bloke beside me hit the call button. “Any chance of moving? Bit loud here.”
I wanted to weep. Instead, I let him flee and quietly wished I could stow myself in the overhead locker.
Then my phone buzzed.
James.
“Foods top-notch up here. Even got a hot towel ”
I stared at the message, clutching a grubby wet wipe, wondering if the universe accepted bribes.
Seconds later, another pingfrom my father-in-law.
“Send us a video of my grandkids on the plane! Want to see them flying like proper little adventurers!”
So I filmed Poppy slamming her tray like a drummer, Alfie gumming his stuffed bear, and mewild-eyed, pale, hair in a greasy knot.
James? Nowhere.
I sent it. He replied with a lone .
That shouldve been the end. Spoiler: it wasnt.
When we landed, I wrestled overtired twins, three heavy bags, and a jammed pushchair. James swanned off the plane behind me, stretching like hed just had a spa weekend.
“Blimey, that was lush. Did you get the crisps? Oh wait” He chuckled.
At baggage claim, his dad spotted us. He scooped Poppy up, kissed my cheek, and said, “Look at youqueen of the skies.”
Then James stepped forward. “Alright, Dad?”
His dads smile vanished. Stone-faced, he said, “Son. Well talk later.”
And talk they did.
That night, once the twins were down, I heard it: “James. Study. Now.”
I pretended to scroll my phone, but the muffled row was crystal:
“You think that was clever?”
“She said she had it”
“Thats not the bloody point, James!”
When the door finally opened, my father-in-law walked past, squeezed my shoulder, and murmured, “Dont fret, love. Sorted.”
James slunk upstairs, silent.
The next evening, his mum announced dinner outher treat. James perked up: “Nice! Somewhere posh?”
We ended up at a waterfront bistro, candles flickering, live piano. The waiter took drink orders.
FIL: “Single malt, neat.”
MIL: “Elderflower spritz.”
Me: “Sparkling water.”
Then he turned to James. Deadpan.
“And for him a glass of milk. Since hes acting like a child.”
The silence was thickthen laughter erupted. His mum tittered, I choked on my water, even the waiter hid a grin. James sat scarlet, mute, through the entire meal.
But karma wasnt done.
Two days later, as I folded washing, FIL leaned on the patio railing. “Just so you know,” he said, “Ive updated the will. Trust for the kids, and for youenough to keep you secure. Jamess share? Shrinks daily till he learns what family means.”
I was gobsmacked. He winked.
By the time we flew home, James was suddenly Father of the Year: hauling car seats, nappy bags, whatever I needed.
At check-in, the agent handed him his boarding pass and paused. “Siryouve been upgraded again.”
James blinked. The ticket sleeve had a scrawl in bold ink: “Business class again. Enjoy. But this ones one-way. Explain it to your wife.”
I knew that handwriting.
“Blimey,” I whispered. “Your dad didnt”
“He did,” James muttered. “Said I could relax in luxury at the hotel Ill be staying in alone. Time to reflect on priorities.”
I burst out laughing. “Guess karma flies first class too.”
As I boarded with both twins, James trailed behind, sheepish, dragging his suitcase.
Just before we stepped on, he leaned in. “So any chance I can earn my way back to economy?”
**Lesson learned:** Never underestimate an English father-in-laws quiet wrathor his knack for poetic justice.
