The Child Bride

I gave her until 9.00 a.m. and then texted her: R u at school? Cathy x.

She replied immediately: Srry. 4got 2 txt. I’m here with friends x.

I breathed a sigh of relief.

I now telephoned my doctor’s practice to make the appointment for Zeena. The doctors knew I fostered and I’d registered other children I’d looked after with them before, using a temporary patient registration, which could be converted into a permanent registration if necessary. This was how I registered Zeena over the phone. A registration card would need to be completed at the first visit. As Zeena’s appointment wasn’t an emergency and to save her missing school, I took the first evening slot that was available – five o’clock on Tuesday. It was Thursday now, so not long to wait. I thanked the appointments’ secretary, noted the time and date in my diary and then woke Adrian with a cup of tea.

‘You spoil me, Mum,’ he mumbled, reaching out from under the duvet for the cup.

‘I know. Don’t spill it,’ I said. ‘Time to get up.’

Since Adrian had returned from university and was working irregular hours I’d got into the habit of waking him for work with a cup of tea, although I’d assured him it was a treat that could be stopped if he didn’t clear up his room. And while we both saw the humour in little me disciplining a big lad of twenty-two (he had been known to pick me up when I was telling him off), like many young adults he still needed some guidelines. I’d read somewhere that the brain doesn’t completely stabilize until the age of twenty-five, and I’d mentioned this to all three of my children at some point.

I had coffee with Adrian while he ate his breakfast and then he went to work. I was tempted to text Zeena to make sure she was all right, but I thought she would be in her lessons now, when her phone should have been switched off and in her bag. I waited until twelve o’clock, which I thought might be the start of her lunch break to text: Hi, is everything all right? Cathy x.

It was twenty minutes before she texted back and I was worrying again: Yes. I’m ok. Thnk u x.

Tara telephoned an hour later. She’d spoken to Zeena earlier and had agreed that she could go home to collect her clothes and see her siblings, but told her to call her, me or the police if there was a problem.’

‘To be honest, Cathy,’ Tara said, ‘at her age, I can’t really stop her from going home if she’s determined. So it’s better to put in place some safeguards rather than just say no. Zeena seems sensible and I’m sure she won’t go into the house if she doesn’t feel safe.’

I agreed.

Tara then said she had telephoned Zeena’s school and had given them my contact details, and she’d been trying to make an appointment to visit Zeena’s parents, but no one was answering the landline, which was the only number she had for them. ‘Zeena tells me her mother doesn’t answer the phone unless she’s expecting a call from a relative,’ Tara said. ‘Apparently her father makes all the calls, but he isn’t home until the evening. If I can’t get hold of them I’ll just have to turn up. Also, I’ve spoken to the child protection police officer and given her your telephone number. She’ll phone you to make an appointment to see Zeena. I’ve also spoken to the head teacher at the primary school Zeena’s siblings attend, as there maybe some safeguarding issues there.’ This was normal social-work practice – if there were concerns about one child in a family then other children in the family were seen and assessed too, and part of this involved contacting their school and their doctor.

‘Thank you,’ I said, grateful for the update. ‘You have been busy.’

‘I’ve been on this case all morning,’ Tara said. ‘I’m in a meeting soon and then I have a home visit for another case. Zeena should be at her parents by three forty-five – her home is only a ten-minute walk from the school. I’ve suggested she spends no more than an hour there – to collect what she needs and see her siblings – so she should be with you by half past five. If there’s a problem, call me on my mobile.’

‘I will,’ I said. ‘I’ve made a doctor’s appointment for Zeena at five o’clock on Tuesday.’

‘Thanks,’ Tara said, and then asked for the name and contact details of my doctor’s practice, which I gave her.

Tara repeated again that if there was a problem I should phone her, but otherwise she’d be in touch again when she had any more news, and we said goodbye.

I spent the rest of the afternoon making notes in preparation for foster-carer training I was due to deliver on Monday. As an experienced carer I helped run training for newer carers as part of the Skills to Foster course. I’d been doing similar for Homefinders and when I’d transferred to the local authority they’d asked me to participate in their training. With this, fostering, some part-time administration work I did on an as-and-when basis, running the house and looking after everyone’s needs, I was busy and my days were full, but pleasantly so. I’d never remarried after my divorce but hadn’t ruled out the possibility; it was just a matter of finding the right man who would also commit to fostering.

Presently I heard a key go in the front door. Paula was home. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she called letting herself in. ‘Guess what?’

I packed away my papers as Paula came into the living room. ‘Adrian phoned,’ she said excitedly. ‘There’s some student summer work going at the place where he works. He said if I’m interested to put in my CV as soon as possible.’

‘Great,’ I said. ‘That sounds hopeful.’ Paula had been looking for summer work for a while. As well as giving her extra money the work experience would look good on her CV and help to take her mind off her A-level results, which weren’t due for another three months.

‘I’ll print out my CV now,’ she said. ‘And write a covering letter.’

‘Yes, and in the letter include the date you can start work,’ I suggested. ‘The twenty-second of July – when school officially finishes.’ Although Paula had sat her exams she was still expected to attend the sixth form until the end of term. ‘I’ll help you with the letter if you like,’ I added.

‘Thanks.’

She returned down the hall and to the front room where we kept the computer. As she did so the front doorbell rang. I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece; it was half past four – too early for Zeena, I thought.

‘I’ll get it,’ Paula called.

‘Thanks. Don’t forget to check the security spy-hole first,’ I reminded her.

‘I know,’ she called. Then, ‘It’s Zeena, Mum.’

‘Oh,’ I said, surprised. I went into the hall as Paula opened the front door and Zeena came in, carrying a large laundry bag and sobbing her heart out.

Chapter Five

Scared into Silence (#u59db0d86-5327-55b2-a880-7d5f28b5b6ba)

‘Whatever is the matter, love?’ I asked, going up to her as Paula closed the front door.

‘My mother wouldn’t let me see my brothers and sisters,’ Zeena sobbed. ‘They were there, but she wouldn’t let me near them.’

‘Oh, love. Why not? And you’ve come all the way home on the bus in tears?’ I said, very concerned and taking her arm. ‘You should have phoned me and I could have collected you.’

‘I was too upset,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’ Her eyes were red and her face was blotchy from crying.

‘All right, calm yourself. Let’s go and sit down and you can tell me what happened.’

Leaving the laundry bag in the hall, Zeena slipped off her shoes and headscarf and came with me into the living room, where we sat side by side on the sofa.

‘Do you need me, Mum?’ Paula asked, worried, having followed us in.

‘No, love. We’ll be all right. You get on with what you have to do. Perhaps you could fetch Zeena a glass of water.’

‘Sure.’

I passed Zeena the box of tissues and, taking one, she wiped her eyes. Paula returned with the glass of water and placed it on the coffee table.

‘Thank you,’ Zeena said quietly, and took a sip.

Paula went to the front room and I waited while Zeena drank a little water and then placed the glass on the table, wiping her eyes again.

‘What happened, love?’ I asked gently.

‘I went home and rang the doorbell,’ she said, with a small sob. ‘Mum took a long time to answer. As I waited I could hear my little brothers and sisters in the hall calling my name. They sounded so excited to be seeing me. I couldn’t wait to see them too. But then it all went quiet and I couldn’t hear them. When Mum answered the door she was very angry. She pulled me inside and began calling me horrible names. She told me to get my things quickly and never set foot in the house again.’

Zeena took a breath before continuing. ‘I went upstairs, but I couldn’t see my brothers and sisters anywhere. Usually they’re all over the house, running and playing, but there was no sign of them. Then I heard their voices coming from the front bedroom. The door was shut and I tried to open it, but it was locked. Mum had locked them in and had the key. She’d stayed downstairs and I called down to her and asked her why they were shut in the bedroom. She said it was to keep them safe from me. She said if they got close they might catch my evil.’ Zeena began crying again and I put my arm around her and held her close until she was calm enough to continue.

‘I spoke to them through the bedroom door,’ she said. ‘They thought it was a game to begin with and were laughing, but when the little ones realized they couldn’t get out and see me they started crying. Mum heard and yelled that I had five minutes to get my things and get out of the house or she’d call my father. I grabbed what I could from the bedroom and fled the house. I know I might never see my brothers and sisters again,’ she cried. ‘I have no family. My parents have disowned me. I should have stayed quiet and not said anything.’

Her tears fell and I held her hand. And again I thought what could she have done that was so horrendous for her mother to call her evil and stop her from seeing her little brothers and sisters? But now wasn’t the right time to ask; she was too upset. I comforted her and tried to offer some reassurance. ‘Zeena, I’ve been fostering for a very long time,’ I said. ‘In my experience, parents are often angry when their child or children first go into care. They can say hurtful things that they later regret. I think if you allow your mother time, she may feel differently. Your brothers and sisters will be missing you; they’re bound to ask for you.’

‘You don’t understand,’ she said. ‘In my family everyone does as my father says. If he tells my mother that I am evil and my brothers and sisters mustn’t have anything to do with me, then that’s that.’