Stories, beautifully told.

Mia walked into a dark flat that night, assuming she was alone. The only light came from the corridor outside. She closed the door behind her but before she could reach for the light switch a gravelly voice came of the darkness.

‘Nice service?’

‘Oh my God, Dad! You nearly gave me a heart attack!’ Pete was sitting on the sofa. He’d been waiting for her.

‘What you doing sitting here in the dark?’ She hated her Dad shouting and swearing but somehow this was worse, menacing. ‘You’ll probably be wanting my rent, Dad. I’ll get it for you now.’

‘Don’t really need your money. I’ve got a bit put by.’

‘Oh. Ok, that’s good.’ Mia began wishing she’d stayed out longer.

‘So, are you gonna ask how? Aren’t you even a little bit curious how your brother can afford a new flat?’

‘Nothing to do with me, Dad. It’s his business.’ Fear crept gently over her and began to take over her body. She didn’t know how to extricate herself without him getting angry. There was no one left to protect her.

‘You’re a bright girl, Mia, aren’t you?’ She swallowed ‘Oh, you’re bright but sometimes you can’t see what’s in front of you.’

‘Dad, I really think I should get back to work, I just popped back to pick up my coat.’

‘Why are you trying to run away, Mia? I just need to talk to you…’ Mia stood her ground and tried to stop the tremor which pulsed through her body – she feared her father would hear her heart beating. Pete looked agitated and shook his head.

‘Your mum wasn’t meant to be working late that night…’ He seemed to no longer be talking directly to Mia. She closed her eyes and willed him to stop. ‘Paul was just meant to check it was split fair and square…’

‘Dad, don’t… please don’t.’

Pete struggled to find the right words… but the phone rang – it was louder than Mia had ever heard it. They both started and Mia being closer leaned over to answer it. ‘Hello? Yes… yes ok. I’ll tell him.’ She hung up and turned to her father. ‘Daphne’s been arrested! She’s at Elmhurst Police Station. Says you need to go and get her. Now!’

‘Stupid bitch.’ He paused… shook his head and picking up his keys walked out of the door. Mia packed a bag and went straight to Nanny M’s house. Mia said nothing when she arrived and Nanny M didn’t ask.

We turned the page but there were no more diary entries. I sat back on the sofa, devastated. But of course, there couldn’t be a happy ending for Josie because I was here, not with her and she had stopped writing the diary so she could put it away for me. I closed my eyes and let the tears fall. Mum wrapped her arms around me and began talking so quietly, I could only just hear her over the sound of the wind and the rain against the windows.

“Jess, this isn’t the end of the story. And there was a story running alongside, which had started years before. It was the story of a couple who loved each other very much and desperately wanted a baby.” Despite trying everything, there came a point when all the optimism and reassuring words ran out. There wasn’t going to be a baby. Not being able to have a child is a very strange thing for a woman. And the grief, it is like bereavement, but a type which no one talks about. Because it doesn’t happen suddenly, it just creeps up on you. So, no one says anything. They just stop asking. All around you, couples become families and their families grow. And with every new baby that arrives, you’re happy for the couple but you feel that pang ‘why isn’t that ever us?’” She stopped and looked at me. “So, we decided to try to adopt a baby, the year before you were born. And that wasn’t as easy as it sounds. There were meetings every week with social workers; evening classes and then all the checks - medicals, police checks, references. And committees of people, who didn’t even know us, deciding whether we would make good parents. But eventually, we got the call.” Mum looked misty eyed and I snuggled closer as she turned away from the dark night. She reached for my hand. “Mel talked to Josie about Dad and me and about another couple. Josie chose us. She wanted us to be your Mum and Dad. She wanted us to give you the life that she never had. We met you, and you were perfect. We had you and you had us and we promised Josie that we would never let you down.” Mum smiled and cupped her hands gently round my face. “We’ll find Josie, my darling, and we will show her the happy ending.”

Susannah and The Elders is an Old Testament story about a young, virtuous wife bathing alone in a garden. She is spied on by two elderly men who demand to have sex with her. When she refuses, they have her arrested for adultery, claiming she had sex with a stranger under a tree. It is a story many artists painted, particularly during the Baroque era.

Artemisia Gentilesci lived in Rome so she knew about being a woman in a misogynistic and dangerous society, run by men, with laws created by and for men. She brought her life and experiences to her art, in a way which men couldn’t match.

Artemisia’s 1610 painting of Susanah brings a new approach to the theme. This was traditionally a painting enjoyed by men. Mary Garrard states: despite its ‘morally instructive theme’ this type of painting had become a ‘voyeuristic opportunity for male art patrons and viewers. It was seventeen-year-old Artemisia who gave Susannah back her story.’ Artemisia painted her subject displaying real fear - a fear only a woman would know. Elizabeth Cropper states: ‘In the case of Artemisia Gentileschi, the relationship between the work and the life is immediately bound up with both misogyny and feminism in a way that is not true for others.’

The paintings of Susannah by Peter Paul Rubens and Tintoretto show exactly what Mary Garrard highlighted. A naked Susannah beautifully posed taking up most of the canvas. They were paintings created for men’s enjoyment. Artemisia’s Susannah, on the other hand, is real. She is turning away from the onlookers, as they leer at her threateningly, whispering to each other, appearing more like one monstrous image taking up half of the canvas, with their hands, just inches away from her body.

With this composition, Garrad concludes ‘Artemisia changes the narrative focus from the men’s pleasure to the woman’s distress.’ It is only as a woman living in a city with constant threat of sexual violence, which enables Artemisia to produce such an uncomfortable painting.

When I met her, I was struck by how small she was. She was only around 140cm. I am 170. She was 17 years old. I was 35. She sat alone. I sat with my husband. She looked like a child. She was a child. She wore ill-fitting clothes, a boy’s bomber jacket and jeans which were too short. And she was skinny, or maybe malnourished. But she had a steely look in her eyes. She was tough and she wasn’t going to get upset. I couldn’t say the same for me. She began showing us some photos of her baby as a newborn. I tried to look at them, but I was so focused on her. I had never met anyone like her before. She had no one, lived in care and had only known a life of violence and neglect. She had nothing. Actually, that’s not true. She had a beautiful healthy baby boy, who we were going to take.