“Do you know why the other mothers don’t like me?” my friend Jill asked bluntly. Her tone was a sad mix of consternation and outrage.
We were having coffee after attending a special parent meeting at our children’s school. Her question gave me the idea, although I wasn’t that surprised when she asked it.
I had cringed that morning as I watched the normally friendly group of women I interact with at the school gates shift uncomfortably in their seats and deliberately avoid Jill’s gaze as she walked into the auditorium alone.
It was clear that no one wanted to sit next to her. Witnessing her subsequent embarrassment when, as we all went back outside, she suggested they regroup at a local cafe, only to be met with lame-sounding excuses, was even worse.
“They think you’re beautiful,” I quickly exclaimed, which isn’t a lie. Jill is a sweet and completely innocent woman – there’s nothing not to love.
But unfortunately, there is plenty to feel sorry for. And it all manifests itself in the form of her big, furry husband Nick. A man who presents himself as the perfect ‘hands-on’ stay-at-home dad, when in fact he is stomach-turningly handsy.
So much so that most of those women aren’t sure how to behave around her, painfully aware – even if they don’t seem to be – what vile man she’s married to.
Nick is a lecher, with a dubious talent for turning any situation into an excuse to hug you – your child comes home from school with a ‘well done’ sticker; overhearing you tell someone you had a bad day, or even a good one.
The mothers at the school gates were seen as easy prey by my friend’s stay-at-home husband and his wandering hands, says Amanda Blake (photo taken by models)
Pity the woman who lets slip within earshot of that man that it’s her birthday.
As soon as you see him come in for a hug – assuming there isn’t time to turn and flee – brace yourself. Otherwise, the way he presses himself hard against your breasts is not only uncomfortable, it actually hurts.
The realization that Nick wasn’t there that morning, having been infected with an insect, was a relief to any woman who had been unlucky enough to sit next to him at one of these school events.
He has the grim trick of putting his hand on your chair just as you would sit down. We all know now to stare at him, then at the chair, then back at him until he takes it away.
But a few of us – another mother and I – have previously had the humiliating experience of accidentally putting our buttocks on his hand before realizing his play.
Of course, he laughed it off every time as a stupid accident. But I remember feeling sick with shame. Instead of finding it funny, I wanted to go home and shower. I look back on that, almost a year ago now, and compliment myself for not challenging him right away. His other victim feels the same. But – and I think this applies to every woman who has experienced something similar – in that moment a sickening combination of shock and mortification threw each of us completely off balance.
And of course the last place anyone wants to make a scene is at their child’s school – something I’m sure he’s taken advantage of.
Nick had been working his way into our all-female group for about six months, after being laid off from his job at a local accounting firm and becoming a full-time father to his and Jill’s children—two boys, ages six and four. That meant Jill – whose earnings already exceeded his – could put more into her publishing career, which was taking off, without paying for childcare.
At first Nick seemed friendly and charming, but gradually his creepy side emerged with the other female parents (photo taken by models)
At first we were impressed and welcomed him to ‘our’ corner of the playground, where we had a nice chat.
Nick wanted to be seen in the same light as the mothers – unlike the other fathers who showed up when work commitments allowed – someone who could help with childcare in an emergency and deal with the social side of school life.
At the time he seemed kind, charming even – always intently interested in what you had to say. He was also flattering, he noticed when you got a new haircut and wanted to know how you combined work with raising children.
He seemed unusually attentive and empathetic, compared to some other fathers. I wasn’t the only mother who quietly admitted that I liked the attention. But gradually his creepy side emerged. He started pretending to brush or pluck imaginary hairs from our clothes. If this had happened in isolation, no one would have noticed. But he started doing it to all of us several times a week.
Or else he said there was a tag sticking out of your top so he could fiddle around while he pretended to tuck it in. If you jumped or showed any sign of alarm, his response was to chuckle loudly and say, “Calm down, tiger.”
We all laughed awkwardly the first time, but soon stopped pretending to find him at all funny. Especially when the inappropriate comments started. When one of us arrived in a hurry and flushed, he used sexual innuendo to suggest why we might be late.
We complained about him to each other, but there never seemed to be a good time to say anything directly to him, because we assumed he would laugh it off—or pretend to be indignant.
We just stopped showing interest in him and hoped he would get the message. He didn’t. It was devastating for all of us to have someone like Nick in our midst. But for me there was an extra dimension, because I knew his wife better than the other mothers.
We had met a few years earlier through mutual friends and had gone out for drinks several times. But our friendship was now in jeopardy due to her husband’s abusive behavior.
Not telling Jill at school what he was like felt like a betrayal, but I couldn’t face it for two reasons: first, because I didn’t know how she would feel about hearing how disgusting his behavior was. But also because I was aware that for a short time I had enjoyed the attention he had given me.
Furthermore, whenever she spoke about him, it was always in glowing terms, saying what a wonderful father and husband he was.
Bursting that bubble seemed impossible. And risky too. If she challenged him – or me – it would always be my word against his. Anyone who dates another woman’s husband like a creep needs much stronger nerves than I do.
Jill clearly didn’t believe my “they think you’re great” line and now came up with another theory for why she was being turned down.
“Is it because they think I don’t care about my children?” she asked, her voice shaking. “They think I’m leaving most of the school supplies to Nick?” I tried to reassure her that this theory was wrong. I told her that the other mothers, who were exhausted in their attempts to combine school leaving with work, admired her for that.
At that moment I almost told her the truth, but I just couldn’t find the words. Instead, I changed the subject and promised to confront Nick so Jill would feel welcome back in our group.
I didn’t have to wait long. A few days later, Nick heard me coughing and suggested I rub some Vicks on my chest. Predictably, he quickly followed that up with an offer to do it for me.
I told him to get lost, using much fruitier language. Another mother quickly intervened and told him, “We’re tired of all this, Nick.” When he demanded to know what ‘this’ meant, she crossed her arms and stared at him coldly. Just like everyone else.
He got the message and walked away. The next time he came around, we collectively turned our backs. I know this sounds mean and childish. But he deserved it. And it worked. He has since moved on to another group of mothers. I hope he treats them better, or at least that they stand up to him faster than we did.
Amanda Blake is a pseudonym. Names and identifying information have been changed.