I braced for turbulence in the air, not in my marriage. One moment we were juggling nappy bags and boarding with twin toddlersthe next, my husband disappeared behind a curtain into business class, abandoning me in the chaos.
Ever had that sinking feeling your partners about to do something absurd, but you refuse to believe it? That was me at Terminal 3: baby wipes poking from my pocket, one twin strapped to my chest, the other gnawing my sunglasses.
This was meant to be our first proper family holidayme, Jeremy, and our eighteen-month-old twins, Poppy and Oliver. We were flying to Spain to visit his parents in their sun-drenched villa near Marbella. His dad had been counting down, FaceTiming so often Oliver now called every silver-haired man “Grandad.”
We were already overwhelmed: nappy bags, pushchairs, car seats, the whole circus. Then Jeremy leaned in and said, “Just going to check something,” before slipping off to the counter.
Did I suspect? Not a chance. I was too busy praying no nappy exploded before takeoff.
Then boarding began.
The gate agent scanned his ticket, beamed, and Jeremy turned to me with a smirk: “Love, I managed an upgrade. Youll manage with the kids, yeah? See you on the other side.”
I laughed. Surely a joke.
It wasnt.
Before I could blink, he kissed my cheek and swanned into business class like some traitorous duke. Meanwhile, I stood there with two wriggling toddlers and a collapsing pushchair, unravelling in front of the world.
He thought hed won. But karma had already boarded.
By the time I squeezed into seat 28C, I was sweating through my jumper, both twins were battling over a sippy cup, and my patience had vanished. Poppy spilled Ribena in my lap.
“Brilliant,” I muttered, dabbing myself with a stained muslin.
The man beside me pressed the call button. “Could I move? Its rather loud here.”
I wanted to weep. Instead, I let him escape and silently wished I could vanish into the overhead locker.
Then my phone buzzed.
Jeremy.
“Foods divine up here. They even gave me a hot towel ”
I stared at the message, clutching a grubby wipe, wondering if the universe accepted bribes.
Seconds later, another pingfrom my father-in-law.
“Send a video of my grandchildren! Want to see them flying like proper little travellers!”
So I filmed Poppy banging her tray like a drummer, Oliver chewing his teddy, and meexhausted, pale, hair in a greasy bun.
Jeremy? Nowhere.
I sent it. He replied with a single .
That shouldve been the end. Spoiler: it wasnt.
When we landed, I wrestled overtired twins, three heavy bags, and a stubborn pushchair. Jeremy strolled off behind me, stretching like hed just had a spa day.
“Blimey, that was lush. Did you try the crisps? Oh wait” He chuckled.
At baggage reclaim, his dad spotted us. He scooped Poppy up, kissed my cheek, and said, “Look at youabsolute trooper.”
Then Jeremy 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: “Jeremy. Study. Now.”
I pretended to scroll, but the muffled shouting was clear:
“You think that was clever?”
“She said she could manage”
“Thats not the bloody point, Jeremy!”
When the door finally opened, my FIL walked past, squeezed my shoulder, and murmured, “Dont fret, love. Sorted.”
Jeremy slunk upstairs, silent.
The next evening, his mum announced dinner outher treat. Jeremy perked up: “Lovely! Somewhere posh?”
We ended up at a seaside restaurant, candlelit, live piano. The waiter took drink orders.
FIL: “Scotch, neat.”
MIL: “Elderflower spritz.”
Me: “Sparkling water.”
Then he turned to Jeremy. Deadpan.
“And for him a glass of milk. Since hes acting like a child.”
The silence was crushingthen laughter erupted. His mum tittered, I choked on my water, even the waiter smirked. Jeremy sat scarlet, 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 comfortable. Jeremys share? Shrinking daily till he learns what family means.”
I was stunned. He winked.
By the time we flew home, Jeremy 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.”
Jeremy blinked. The sleeve had a message scrawled in bold ink: “Business again. Enjoy. But this ones one-way. Explain it to your wife.”
I knew that handwriting.
“Bloody hell,” I whispered. “Your dad didnt”
“He did,” Jeremy muttered. “Said I could relax in style at the hotel Ill be staying in alone. To reflect on priorities.”
I burst out laughing. “Guess karma reclines all the way.”
As I boarded with both twins, Jeremy trailed behind, shamefaced, dragging his suitcase.
Just before we stepped on the plane, he leaned in. “So any chance I can earn my way back to economy?”
