I made it. Not only out of my addiction, but on to a plane with Alex

It’s the longest we’ve ever sat together – 14 hours on a plane to Mauritius. Will Alex and I finally get the romantic dinner and movie date that I’ve been longing for from our economy seats? The first holiday is well known for being make-or-break. Yikes, it’s a little bit nerve-wracking but I don’t want to bite the holiday colour off my nails before I’ve even got there. I chose the orange named “There’s No Stopping Me Now” – and as far as I’m concerned, we’re finally taking off.

The trouble is you don’t really know if you are a good holiday match until you get there – but I take a deep sigh of relief that we actually made it on to the plane. In the departure lounge of the airline, Alex had accidentally been given the alcoholic version of the cranberry punch. I would have spat it out, but he finished it off, then told me it smelt of alcohol.

Of course, I complained because it’s really dangerous for a recovering alcoholic to drink – it is like putting a gun to your head. Would he start craving alcohol? Is our holiday doomed? All these things crossed my mind. Then in his panic, he lost his passport but found it right at the last minute as the plane doors were closing. By the time we board the flight, I am a quivering wreck. If it is this bad within the first hour, what the hell is going to happen next?

Alex insisted on being by the exit door when we checked in – but I know there is no escape for him until we return. I snuggle up to him and give him a quick shoulder massage as he stretches out his long legs in the aisle. But then to my surprise, he’s upgraded to first-class. A member of the cabin crew walks over and apologises profusely for what happened to him.

“We are so sorry, sir, that you were given a free alcoholic drink back in the lounge area,” a woman says in hushed tones with a big smile. “It must have been awful for you and your wife. I understand you don’t drink.”

She leads him away to his own little first-class pod that can turn into a bed. Alex is beaming from head to foot. I’m in disbelief – there is only one available and apparently it’s for him. We could swap halfway through the journey but I surrender to fate. Much to my absolute horror, my new travelling partner is a mum and her newborn baby – every flyers worst nightmare on a long haul flight – until of course, you are that mum.

Of course, I have my concerns about this holiday. Who wouldn’t? I’ve got psychic at the ready: she’s my phone a friend, ready for any questions I might have. He’s going to see me warts and all. At least in those days, before two small children ate away at all my gym time, I was looking beach-ready. But will we survive the intimacy of being holed up together for 10 days?

My insecurities and Alex’s avoidance issues might all stem from the same thing – a fear of being hurt. Am I going to be treading on eggshells all holiday or will it be like one big honeymoon? It can’t be worse than rehab, I think, where you have people in your face 24/7, and where you are warned by the team of therapists that a relationship is like looking in a mirror – at all your defects.

I remember falling into a cement mixer in a garden shed while kissing an inpatient at the Wiltshire treatment centre – we got thrown out. We fled to his country cottage on the grounds of his parents’ big farm in Kent. But when Deadly Headley (now long dead) turned up wielding a knife at us, over money no doubt, it all got a bit similar to The Shining for me.

But as I stare out of the plane window at the the fluffy white clouds, I smile to myself: I made it. Not only out of my addiction, but on to a plane with Alex. It’s a miracle.