I expected turbulence in the air, not in my 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 stranded in economy with the chaos.
Ever had that sinking feeling your other half is about to do something absurd, but you refuse to believe it? That was me at Heathrow Terminal 5: baby wipes poking out of my pocket, one twin strapped to my chest, the other gnawing 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 overloaded: nappy bags, pushchairs, car seatsthe full circus. Then James leaned in and said, “Just going to check something quickly,” before slipping off to the counter.
Did I suspect anything? Not a chance. I was too busy praying no one had a nappy explosion before takeoff.
Then boarding began.
The gate agent scanned his ticket, smiled, and James turned to me with a smug grin. “Love, I managed to bag an upgrade. Youll be all right with the kids, yeah? See you on the other side.”
I laughed. Surely he was joking.
He wasnt.
Before I could react, he pecked my cheek and strolled into business class like some entitled lord. Meanwhile, I stood there with two wriggling toddlers and a collapsing pushchair, unravelling in front of the entire queue.
He thought hed won. But karma had already checked in.
By the time I squeezed into seat 24E, I was sweating through my jumper, both twins were fighting over a beaker, and my patience had officially run out. Poppy spilled orange juice on my lap.
“Brilliant,” I muttered, dabbing at it with a damp muslin cloth.
The man beside me pressed the call button. “Could I possibly move? Its a bit lively here.”
I wanted to cry. Instead, I let him escape and silently wished I could climb into the overhead locker too.
Then my phone buzzed.
James.
“Foods incredible up here. They even gave me a hot towel ”
I stared at the message, clutching a grubby wipe, wondering if divine justice took bribes.
Seconds later, another pingthis time from my father-in-law.
“Send me 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 to be seen.
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 ambled off the plane behind me, yawning like hed just had a spa treatment.
“Blimey, that was lush. Did you try the crisps? Oh wait” He chuckled.
At baggage reclaim, his dad spotted us. He scooped Poppy into his arms, kissed my cheek, and said, “Look at youqueen of the skies.”
Then James stepped forward. “Alright, Dad?”
But his dads smile vanished. Stone-faced, he said, “Son well talk later.”
And talk 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 unmistakable:
“You think that was clever?”
“She said she could 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: “Lovely! Somewhere posh?”
We ended up at a seaside restaurant, candlelit, with live piano. The waiter took drink orders.
FIL: “Scotch, neat.”
MIL: “Earl Grey, no milk.”
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 tittered, I nearly choked on my water, even the waiter smirked. James sat flushing, mute, through the entire meal.
But karma wasnt done.
Two days later, as I folded laundry, 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? 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. “Ah, siryouve been upgraded again.”
James blinked. The ticket sleeve had a message scrawled in bold ink: “Business class again. Enjoy. But this ones one-way. Youll explain it to your wife.”
I recognised the handwriting instantly.
“Oh my days,” 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 week. 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 suitcase.
Just before we stepped onto the plane, he leaned in. “So any chance I can earn my way back to economy?”
