**Diary Entry 12th May**
I braced for turbulence, but not the kind that would shake my marriage. One moment, we were wrestling with nappy bags and boarding with our twin toddlersthe next, my husband disappeared behind a curtain into business class, leaving me drowning in chaos.
Ever had that sinking feeling your other half is about to do something utterly selfish, but you cant quite believe it? That was me at Terminal 3, baby wipes spilling from my pocket, one twin strapped to me, 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 Malaga. His dad had been counting the days, FaceTiming so often that Oliver now calls every silver-haired man “Grandad.”
We were already swampednappy bags, pushchairs, car seats, the lot. Then James leaned in and said, “Just going to check something,” before slipping off to the counter.
Did I suspect a thing? 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 infuriating 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 protest, 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, humiliated in front of everyone.
He thought hed won. But karma had already boarded.
By the time I squeezed into seat 24B, sweat soaked my jumper, both twins were fighting over a sippy cup, and my patience had vanished. Poppy upended apple juice onto my lap.
“Brilliant,” I muttered, dabbing at it with a soggy 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 quietly wished I could stow myself in the overhead locker.
Then my phone buzzed.
James.
“Foods incredible up here. They even gave me a hot towel ”
I stared at the message, clutching a grimy wipe, wondering if divine intervention took bribes.
Seconds later, another pingthis time from my father-in-law.
“Send me a video of my grandbabies on the plane! I want to see them flying like proper little travellers!”
So I filmed Poppy banging her tray like a drummer, Oliver chewing his stuffed Paddington, and meexhausted, pale, hair a greasy mess.
James? Nowhere in sight.
I sent it. He replied with a single .
That shouldve been the end. But it wasnt.
When we landed, I wrestled overtired twins, heavy bags, and a stubborn pushchair. James strolled off the plane behind me, stretching as if hed just left a spa.
“Blimey, that was lush. Did you get the pretzels? Oh wait” He chuckled.
At baggage reclaim, his dad spotted us. He scooped Poppy up, kissed my cheek, and said, “Look at youproper trooper.”
Then James stepped forward. “Alright, Dad?”
But his dads smile dropped. 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, 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 seaside restaurant, candles flickering, a pianist playing softly. The waiter took drink orders.
FIL: “Single malt, neat.”
MIL: “Earl Grey, iced.”
Me: “Sparkling water.”
Then he turned to James. Deadpan.
“And for him a glass of milk. Since hes clearly not acting like a grown-up.”
The silence was deafeningthen laughter erupted. His mum giggled, I nearly choked on my water, even the waiter smirked. James sat scarlet-faced, silent all evening.
But karma wasnt done.
Two days later, as I folded laundry, his dad leaned on the garden fence. “Just so you know,” he said, “Ive updated the will. Trust for the kids, and for youenough to keep you comfortable. Jamess share? Shrinks every day until 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 bold black ink: “Business class again. Enjoy. But this ones one-way. Youll explain it to your wife.”
I knew that handwriting.
“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. To think about my choices.”
I burst out laughing. “Guess karma reclines all the way, doesnt it?”
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?”
