I am now the mother of two beautiful children

KATY HARRINGTON

What’s to like about airports? The overpriced water, the harried passengers, the loud Americans who start every sentence with “In the United States...”? On board a flight to Miami, I find my aisle seat in a row of four. Opposite me on the furthest side is a youngish blond surfer dad and next to him with their earphones in are his two little blonde daughters. The stewardess passes by and looks upon the angelic little girls and then at me and gives me an approving smile. Clearly, she thinks I’m their mother.

Later, a steward comes past and stops next to me. I remove my headphones and he asks sweetly “are the girls all right for everything?” I hesitate, not knowing what to do or say. “I don’t know,” I say, pointing to the man sitting two seats away with his earphones in. “That’s their father, you should ask him.” This clarifies nothing and instead the steward looks at me like I’m the worst wife/mother on the planet and walks away.

A few hours later he comes by again with the drinks trolley. I ask for a sparkling water and then he says, concerned now that “my” children are being neglected “Are the girls OK? Do they need water?” “I don’t know, I’m not their mother.” He stares at me and then at them in disbelief. Then he says: “But you make such a beautiful family,” which on reflection is about the weirdest thing you can say to a woman who just told you she is not the mother of two children sitting beside her.

Before we land, an air hostess comes by to do a final check — seatbelts on, seats in the upright position, tray tables up. I smile at her and she gazes back at me as if I’m a saint, then at my two beautiful non-daughters sleeping next to me. “Adorable girls,” she says. “I know,” I say, “they take after their dad.”