I anticipated a bumpy flight, not a rocky marriage. One moment we were juggling nappy bags and boarding with our twin toddlersthe next, my husband disappeared behind the curtain into business class, leaving me in the chaos.
Ever had that nagging sense your other half is about to do something absurd, but you refuse to believe it? That was me at Terminal 3, baby wipes spilling from my pocket, one twin strapped to my chest, the other chewing on my sunglasses.
This was meant to be our first proper family holidayme, James, and our 18-month-old twins, Poppy and Oliver. We were flying to Spain to visit his parents in their sunny retirement villa near Marbella. His dad had been counting the days, video-calling so often that Oliver now calls every silver-haired man “Grandad.”
We were already stretched thin: nappy bags, pushchairs, car seatsthe whole circus. Then James leaned in and said, “Just need to check something,” before slipping off to the counter.
Did I suspect anything? Not a chance. I was too busy praying no nappy exploded before takeoff.
Then boarding began.
The gate agent scanned his ticket, beamed, and James turned to me with a smug grin. “Love, I managed an upgrade. Youll be alright with the kids, yeah? See you on the other side.”
I laughed. Surely, he was joking.
He wasnt.
Before I could blink, he pecked my cheek and strutted into business class like some traitorous lord. Meanwhile, I stood there with two wriggling toddlers and a collapsing pushchair, unravelling in front of everyone.
He thought hed won. But karma had already checked in.
By the time I squeezed into seat 24B, I was sweating through my jumper, both twins were fighting over a sippy cup, and my patience had officially run out. Poppy spilled juice in my lap.
“Brilliant,” I muttered, wiping myself with a used muslin.
The man beside me pressed the call button. “Could I move? Its a bit loud here.”
I wanted to cry. Instead, I let him escape and silently wished I could crawl into the overhead locker too.
Then my phone buzzed.
James.
“Foods proper posh 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 grandbabies on the plane! Want to see them flying like big kids!”
So I filmed Poppy banging her tray like a drummer, Oliver chewing his teddy, and meexhausted, pale, hair in a greasy bun.
James? Nowhere in sight.
I sent it. He replied with a single .
That shouldve been the end of it. Spoiler: it wasnt.
When we landed, I wrestled overtired twins, three heavy bags, and a stubborn pushchair. James strolled off the plane behind me, yawning like hed just had a spa weekend.
“Blimey, that was lush. Did you get the crisps? Oh wait” He chuckled.
At baggage reclaim, 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?”
But his dads smile dropped. Stone-faced, he said, “Son well chat later.”
And chat they did.
That night, once the twins were asleep, I heard it: “James. Study. Now.”
I pretended to scroll my phone, but the muffled shouting was clear:
“You think that was clever?”
“She said shed manage”
“Thats not the bloody point, James!”
When the door finally opened, my father-in-law walked past, patted 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 harbourfront restaurant, candlelit, live piano. The waiter asked for drinks.
Father-in-law: “Single malt, neat.”
Mother-in-law: “Earl Grey.”
Me: “Sparkling water.”
Then he turned to James. Deadpan.
“And for him a glass of milk. Since he clearly cant handle being a grown-up.”
The silence was thickthen laughter erupted. His mum giggled, I nearly choked on my water, even the waiter smirked. James sat red-faced, mute, through the entire meal.
But karma wasnt done.
Two days later, while I folded laundry, his dad 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 comfortable. Jamess share? Shrinking daily till he learns what family means.”
I was speechless. He winked.
By the time we flew home, James was suddenly Father of the Year: offering to carry car seats, nappy bags, anything.
At check-in, the agent handed him his boarding pass and paused. “Oh, siryouve been upgraded again.”
James blinked. The ticket sleeve had a note scrawled in bold ink: “Business class again. Enjoy. But this ones one-way. Youll explain it to your wife.”
I recognised the handwriting instantly.
“Good lord,” I whispered. “Your dad didnt”
“He did,” James muttered. “Said I could relax in style at the hotel Ill be staying in alone for a few days. To think about priorities.”
I burst out laughing. “Guess karma reclines all the way.”
As I boarded with both twins, James trailed behind, sheepish, dragging his carry-on.
Just before we stepped on the plane, he leaned over. “So any chance I can earn my way back to economy?”
