Liars' League

Michaela, No Saint, Triumphs Over the Devil by Barney Walsh

Michaela MP3

Read by Lois Tucker

Inspired by the painting Saint Michael Triumphs over the Devil by Bartoleme Bartejo, right

The Devil’s name is Gavin. He’s this weird, monstrous thing – half-snake, half-toad, half-dragon, half-insect, half-bird, half-bat, half-moth, half-lots of other stuff too – a wriggly, odious green lump, a kind of amphibian, dragon-like worm. His eyes – all four of them, two in his head and two in his manboobs where his nipples should be – are hard red jewels with black, soulless pits at their centres; his reptilian scales each oozes green slime at its edges; vicious, hedgehoggy spikes run all down his spine, poking out through his office shirt, right to the tip of his pulsing, prehensile tail. Like, gross.

They say the Devil was once as beautiful as he now is foul – Michaela finds that hard to believe, though if it’s true he must’ve been pretty fucking beautiful. His name is Gavin, it says so on his ID card, pinned to his shirt pocket, beside his tasteless tie – but to Michaela, he’s simply the Devil. That’s what she always called him, in her head. She knew, right from her first day working here. Because just look at him.

 

A Man We Don't Even Know by Jacqueline Downs

A Man We Don't Even Know MP3

Read by Cliff Chapman

“Jan. I just killed a man.”

Harry presses the phone hard to his ear. Jan’s voice is just audible over the noise of his own terror as it shouts inside him and the sounds of traffic outside the shop.

“What? What do you mean, you killed a man?” Jan is saying. “Love, what do you mean?”

She doesn’t sound scared or angry or confused. This makes him even more grateful for her, for their twenty years. That she can hear those words and know that it’s nothing to be scared or angry or confused about. She will trust whatever he says.

 

Ted by Jason Jackson

Ted MP3

Read by Jim Cogan

Ted used to dress up like a nun. Usually, it was for Children in Need, but sometimes it was fundraisers, that time there was the tsunami. He’d carry a bucket, wear a pair of false breasts outside his habit – if that’s what you call the thing a nun wears – and he’d charge you fifty pence a squeeze. They made a noise like a duck if you squeezed hard enough. Some people used to laugh.

He had a photograph on his desk of his wife, his kid. It was the kind of picture you could imagine he’d cut from a magazine and put in a frame, just to pretend there was a family. You hear about these people, rocking in their darkened rooms alone at night and pretending to everyone at work they’re happily married. But Sam in accounts said he’d bumped into the three of them at some garden centre, said the wife was surprisingly tall, the kid well-behaved. Ted didn’t talk about them much, but if you asked him, he’d give you the normal response, yeah, fine, off to the coast in the caravan for the weekend, or whatever.

 

Break a Leg by Keith Gillison

Break a Leg MP3

Read by Clive Greenwood

Malcolm stood on the stage and looked out at the empty theatre. The rows of folded seats, the faded burgundy curtains, the peeling wallpaper; the glory days were gone, but it was his little slice of heaven. If he closed his eyes he could hear the applause, the laughter, and the encores.

He turned at the sound of approaching footsteps.

‘Ah, darlings, there you are. The finest actors in England.’

Sid, Norman and Derek looked behind them to see who these amazing actors were. Malcolm was getting carried away again.

 

The Phobia Room by Stuart Snelson

The Phobia Room MP3

Read by Greg Page

The first time, Burton’s client arrived anticipating an avalanche of snakes. This is a common misapprehension. As an exposure therapist, he helps people overcome phobias, but contrary to their fears, there is no immediate confrontation. They are edged gently towards their tormentor.

At parties, he is often asked: what are you afraid of? He insists they change their question’s tense: what were you afraid of? Naturally, he explains, he has mastered his own fears before helping others overcome theirs.

His client is late. He abhors tardiness. The only client he had accepted this from was a man with a terror of time itself. In his drawer a muffled clock had tick-tocked innocuously as they worked towards an anxiety-free future.

 

Stories chosen for Work & Play, Tuesday 9th August

We've slogged and sweated through reams of stories, pulling all-nighters and burning the candle at both ends, pushing the envelope and thinking out of the box going forward ... but after a punishing selection process the Work & Play candidates have been chosen, so it's time to let our hair down! In an office-appropriate way, of course.

Our five winning stories feature demonic harassment in the workplace, death while shopping, postmortem amdram, colleague cuckoldry and a room full of nightmares, which for once doesn't mean the stationery cupboard ... Interested? Click the Facebook event and let us know you're thinking about coming along. 

WINNING STORIES FOR WORK & PLAY
Michaela, No Saint, Triumphs Over the Devil by Barney Walsh *NEW AUTHOR*
The Phobia Room by Stuart Snelson *NEW AUTHOR*
Break a Leg by Keith Gillison *NEW AUTHOR*
A Man We Don't Even Know by Jacqueline Downs
Ted by Jason Jackson

In addition to these five brand spanking new works of fiction, your fiver on the door will get you the chance to win BOOKS in our infamous interval QUIZ, some SWEETIES and a PROGRAMME. And if you can't make an office party out of that lot, there's no hope for you. Doors open at 7pm for a 7.30 start and Senior Management will be noting your attendance ...

Seating is first come first served - so it's wise to get there a bit ahead of time if you want a good table - but if you have a party of 5 or more you can reserve a table by calling 07808 939535.

The venue is downstairs at:
The Phoenix
37 Cavendish Square
London
W1G 0PP

(The Phoenix is 5 minutes' walk from Oxford Circus tube station, which is on the Victoria, Bakerloo and Central lines). Map here

National Gallery Winner: The Ugly Duchess by Fiona Salter

Inspired by An Old Woman (“The Ugly Duchess”) by Quentin Massys, on show at the National Gallery, room 5

The Ugly Duchess MP3

Read by Claire Lacey

He thought I didn’t know. But I did.

Thirty years after he first painted me, I’m sitting for Quentin Massys again. But this time I know what’s behind every brushstroke; he barely looks at me, he’s so focused on his mockery. I could get up and wander round to check the canvas, but I’m stiff and tired, and besides I can picture it only too well.

Tits on a shelf, last century’s fashion jauntily wrapped round wrinkled neck, and the piece de resistance, a fresh rosebud nestled between withered dugs.

Margerete Maultasch the drinkers shout after me, before they melt into the darkness of the bierkeller doorway.

I’ve heard it all before. Not so much in Durnstein, my home town, no they were used to my - how shall I say, jolie-laide features, my ‘unconventional’ looks. In rural Carpathia, we lived in a world of wounded, and those wounds festered. Club-footed children, pock-marked matrons, people twisted by arthritis or accidents of birth. Herr Kirsch had a nub of a hand where the lathe had slipped. Karolus’ right arm hung uselessly since a cart crushed him against a wall. Tuberculosis, tetanus, a rusty nail, an infection - if these things didn’t kill you they left their mark, leaving you with a harsher life and a new nickname.

We knew that nature could delight in the disfiguring oakapple as much as tender blossom. And we accepted that. But in Vienna people were less forgiving – there was an edge to their comments. What does she think she looks like? Don’t mind if I don’t. Hammel Kleider als Lamm: mutton dressed as lamb. Put them away dear. No, don’t think you’re the first to say that.

 

National Gallery Winner: Desperately Seeking Hephaestion by Elizabeth Hopkinson

Inspired by The Family of Darius before Alexander by Paolo Veronese, in the National Gallery, room 9

Desperately Seeking Hephaestion MP3

Read by Nick Delvallé

Plato once said that each of us is a man divided, always seeking his other half. I suppose this is what Aristotle was thinking of when he called Alexander and me, “one soul residing in two bodies.” The question is: whose soul? That’s what I’ve always wanted to know.

In the early days, we had a lot of fun. Back when we used to hang in the Palazzo on the Grand Canal. We used to swap clothes on a regular basis. Then we’d trade places and bite our cheeks to avoid giggling as viewers stared at the painting in bafflement.

“But which one is Alexander?” they’d say.

When they’d gone, we would bend double with laughter, holding onto one another and wiping our eyes.

Only later did the question sink in. Which one is Alexander? Never: which one is Hephaestion?

 

National Gallery Winner: Authenticity & the Madonna by Ingrid Jendrzejewski

Inspired by The Virgin and Child (‘The Madonna with the Iris’) Workshop of Albrecht Dürer, National Gallery, room 65

Authenticity and the Madonna MP3

Read by Sarah Feathers

So I’m just back from maternity leave and I’ve been asked to give this talk on authenticity and art. My baby isn’t sleeping – I’m not sleeping – it’s all a bit crazy and when I was trying to get my thoughts together, you know, to actually prepare something, well, my baby sicked up all over my notes. And not just any old sick. Nothing you could just magic away with a wet-wipe. Oh no, I’m talking projectile soakage.

And by ‘my’ notes, I mean the notes I borrowed from a colleague who has given talks like this before, so it’s not like I had a back-up copy or anything and she’s on holiday and isn’t responding to e-mail, and so well, here I am.

Here I am, and here we all are, and although I feel like I should admit to you right here and now that I’m no big expert on art or art history or attribution or anything like that, when it comes to the painting I’m going to talk about, ‘The Madonna with the Iris’, I have a hell of a lot to say about authenticity.

Right, so let’s get the facts out of the way. The painting’s full title is listed as ‘The Virgin and Child (The Madonna with the Iris)’. It’s oil on lime, thought to have been produced somewhere between 1500 and 1520, and is said to be from the workshop of Albrecht Dürer.

The Art Fund bought it in 1945, and even then there were questions about its attribution: the minutes from the Board Meeting in which its acquisition was discussed state, “The Board must not purchase it as an authentic Dürer”. Then in 1959, it was accused of being, and I quote, “almost suspiciously full of Dürer motifs” by curator Michael Levey.

 

National Gallery Winner: Stilleven by Gregory Jackson

Inspired by Still Life: Pewter and Silver Vessels and a Crab by Willem Claeszoon Heda, on display at the National Gallery, room 14

Stilleven MP3

Read by David Mildon

The winter of 1634 is a cold one. The Spaarne freezes and the fair is still going late in February. The days are short and Osias finds it hard to mix the paint with numb fingers.

“Come on, boy,” says Willem. “I’m not working beyond three today. I need to get laid.”

It is a grand house in the new style. Heer Cuyp, the merchant, Willem’s client, is a short man with a large wife and an African servant, a second shadow who trails him through the house. The servant has caught a cold. Each time he sneezes Willem starts, the brush leaping in his hand.

“Get me some wax, Osias. My nerves will not survive this.”

The merchant is forever moving between the rooms of his house. Osias has noticed a similar restlessness in other clients. The new rich. They never seem entirely happy. This wealth is a novelty and they appear uncomfortable with it. Osias has watched them in the Grote Markt, haggling with the silversmiths and the craftsmen. They are tight-fisted and argumentative, and their wives have eyes that cannot settle. Money is a hot chestnut to be passed from hand to hand. They build their houses, they take on more servants, they gild their looking glasses and fill their coffers. And yet, curiously, they do not appear capable of enjoying these riches. Willem paints a picture to remind them what their toil has reaped. A mirror held up to their achievement.