Toby Young
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I stayed with Caroline before take-off, helping to get the children into their seats — those that had them, anyway. Charlie, our 11-month-old, would spend the 5,235-mile journey sitting on his mother’s lap. When the seat belt sign came on and it was time to return to the front of the plane I tried to compose my features into a look of stoical resignation and trudged slowly to my seat. At least, I did until I was out of sight. The moment I passed the curtain dividing Economy from Premium, I let out a silent cheer and skipped the rest of the way. As I sunk into the upholstered luxury of my Upper Class seat, I could just make out the sound of Charlie crying in the background. Luckily, I had a pair of noise-reducing headphones in my hand luggage.
About an hour and a half later, Caroline appeared with Charlie.
‘Do you want me to take him for a bit?’ I asked.
‘You can take him all right,’ she said, handing him to me. ‘Take him back to Economy. And give me your seat.’
‘I asked about that. No can do, I’m afraid. Airline regulations. They’re really anal about it. More than their jobs are worth, apparently.’
She immediately turned to a passing flight attendant.
‘Can I swap seats with my husband?’
‘Course you can,’ he said.
Thirty seconds later I was back in Economy, clutching a screaming baby. When I left Caroline there had been a man sitting beside Freddie, our two-year-old, but that seat was now empty. Indeed, nearly every seat within a three-row radius of my children had been vacated — and it wasn’t hard to work out why. Judging from the distribution of bread rolls and plastic cutlery, they had just recreated the food fight scene from Animal House. The only exception was a middle-aged woman sitting across the aisle from Ludo, our four-year-old, who was belting out a version of ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star’. She gave me a look of fury and then stuck two fingers in her ears.
As an experienced parent, I knew just how to restore calm to this scene of pandemonium: Medised. After dosing up Charlie and Freddie, I showed the four-year-old and the five-year-old how to operate the in-flight entertainment system and before long they were both glued to an extremely violent film about a serial killer.
An hour later I tiptoed back to Upper Class with a view to reclaiming my seat. Caroline had converted it into a flat bed and was preparing to go to sleep.
‘Can we swap back now?’ I asked.
‘And leave me to deal with all the children on my own?’
‘They won’t give you any trouble. Charlie and Freddie are asleep and the other two are watching a movie. Come and see for yourself. All’s rosy in the garden.’
She accompanied me back to Economy where we were greeted by the sight of a red-faced Charlie, screaming his head off, and three empty seats. What was going on?
Just then, Ludo came hurtling down the aisle, clutching a carton of apple juice, hotly pursued by a flight attendant. Freddie was just visible in the galley behind him. He had removed all his clothes and, judging from his arched back, was readying himself for a ‘standing-up wee’. Sasha was lying on the floor between the seats, trying to get some sleep.
Caroline scooped up Sasha and took her back to Upper Class to share her bed, leaving me to deal with the other three. By the time we touched down at Heathrow, I felt at least ten years older.
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