Mother Knows Best

I spend the weekend with mum. I have only occasionally spoken to her about the events of the past year, because I don't want to upset her, but when she asks how things are going, I find it very hard to lie and say that everything is fine. So I offer up the odd cheering snippet - Line Manager has stopped being sarcastic! Spiteful Manager has had all his staff reallocated to other managers!! - and then spend a lot of time talking about all the other things I am doing to take my mind off the hours between 9am and 5pm.

And mum finds all this so interesting, that it is only on Sunday afternoon that she gets round to asking "how is that very strange woman you work with treating you?".

She means Remora (Ah! Remora. Thereby hangs a tale.....)

Now my mum has a very particular reason for asking about Remora. Because my mother's work life was also blighted by a very frightening female work colleague, whom I shall call Wendy (because that was, in fact, her name....)

Wendy was legendary in our household, because mum used to give a weekly recitation of her actions and sayings. It was Wendy who insidiously and systematically bullied my mother; yet who skilfully persuaded the Head of Department that she (Wendy, naturally) was the most saintly, helpful employee on her team. It was Wendy who for irrational reasons best known to herself  "took against" another colleague of my mother's (a mild mannered chap, whom mum described as totally inoffensive) and terrorised him to the point of a nervous breakdown. It was Wendy who said once to my mother about this gentleman "I am going to get rid of him, just watch me". (She did. He resigned, and years later when my mother bumped into him, he was still having nightmares about the experience).

In our family, workplace sociopaths have always been known as Wendies (and my sincere apologies to all the non-sociopathic, lovely Wendies out there, but every family has its little foibles...).

So when mum says to me "how's that very strange woman you work with treating you?" she adds: "that Wendy?".

I have already gathered up my belongings in readiness for heading to the train station, but at this point, and despite having recently celebrated a Major Birthday, I suddenly feel the need for a little bit of mummy comfort and wisdom. So I put my bag down, and settle back onto the sofa in readiness for a Long Chat.

"Mum," I say. "I couldn't have another cup of tea, could I?"