Betrayed: The heartbreaking true story of a struggle to escape a cruel life defined by family honour

Again she nodded, whispering a polite, ‘Yes.’

Peggy flexed one of her stout legs and groaned, rubbing the knee. There were red welts on each ankle to match those on her forearms, where her black socks had cut into her skin. ‘I’m so swollen after sitting down all day,’ she groaned, hoicking one of her legs up with cupped hands and resting her ankle on the knee of the other one. ‘I called around all the specialist fostering agencies but every placement was filled. As you probably know, Rosie, we prefer a cultural match if at all possible, but there’s a massive shortage of Muslim fostering families at the moment,’ she said, her breathing jagged as she rubbed away at her ankle. ‘There’s been such a surge of Muslim children being taken into care but nothing like the same number of specialist carers coming forward.’

At that moment Emily and Jamie walked in from the garden, probably unable to contain their curiosity any longer. ‘Ah, here they are. Emily, Jamie, this is Zadie.’

Zadie forced a stiff smile then lowered her head, shrinking back further into the sofa.

‘Hi, Zadie,’ they chorused, Emily lifting her hand in a little wave.

‘And this is Peggy.’

Peggy’s jaw dropped again as if she was shocked by their appearance. Seconds later it was back in its usual position. Her default expression seemed to be a scowl while her brain assimilated a response giving the impression that she was furious with what she had just seen or heard. ‘These yours, are they?’ she asked. The social worker had a way of depersonalising everything, reducing everyone to inanimate objects.

‘Yes. Emily is 16 and Jamie’s just turned 13.’

‘How do you feel about having someone else about the place, taking up your mum’s time?’ Peggy asked, talking in the same loud voice she used with Zadie. Emily raised her eyebrows. Jamie glanced sideways at Zadie. I think they both felt as sorry for her as I did, although I didn’t think for a second that Peggy meant to sound callous. There was a kindness in her slightly hooded eyes that remained while the rest of her face contorted; she was probably just one of those people who spoke her mind before processing it fully, I thought. Still, it was unlikely to make Zadie feel any better about staying with us. One thing I realised, though, was that Peggy was using the same tone with my own children as she had with Zadie. It must have been her way of communicating with all youngsters. Many of the social workers I had met were awkward around children, strange considering their line of work, although there were exceptions. My supervising social worker, Des, for example, was amazing with youngsters, immediately putting them at ease. But then again he was comfortable in his own skin and I think children responded well to his natural warmth.

‘It’s cool,’ Emily said, bestowing a shy smile. ‘Want to come and see your room, Zadie?’

Peggy frowned, her lips stretching to a thin line. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she boomed after a moment, her tone once again incongruous with the look on her face. I had a feeling it was a habit that would take a bit of time to get used to. With a hand at the side of each hip she pushed down on the sofa and rocked forwards, once, twice, until she had enough momentum to heave herself up. ‘Lead the way, young lady,’ she told Emily, shooing her along with her hand. ‘Come on, Zadie. We’ll take a wander to check your room and then I’ll be off.’

Jamie flopped himself down on the sofa while Peggy bundled Emily and Zadie into the hall, her leg creaking rebelliously as she wheezed along. Emily led the way upstairs. Zadie followed in silence, her robe billowing outwards so that the hem brushed each stair as she climbed. Peggy huffed her way up next, chivvying Zadie along with impatient little noises in her throat. Each stair groaned under the weight of her heavy footfall.

In the room, Peggy pulled the duvet back from the bed and pressed her flat palm all over the mattress, a standard check that all social workers are supposed to carry out each time they visit the foster home. It was a routine put in place ever since it had come to light that some rogue foster carers had put children down to sleep on sheets of MDF, with no mattress or even padding on top.

‘Everything OK with the room, Peggy?’ I asked.

The social worker straightened and glanced around, her mouth contorted. Emily looked crestfallen. ‘It’s absolutely lovely, Rosie,’ she said after a moment, her face softening into a smile. ‘Do you like it?’ she boomed, turning to Zadie.

Zadie nodded, rewarding Emily with her own shy smile.

Leaving Zadie to settle in and unpack the few items she had in her rucksack, I went back downstairs with Peggy to go through the placement agreement. Half an hour later, as I said goodbye to the social worker, I was already of the opinion that Zadie had ran away because she was at ‘that age’ and was testing the boundaries, perhaps resenting the strict rules her parents had in place at home. Having to leave school was probably the final straw, I thought. In my head I had it all worked out.

But, as often happens when fostering, my initial assumptions couldn’t have been more wrong.

Chapter 3 (#uc9790101-6853-5bf5-9560-56ef66dd35bc)

Soon after the arrival of a new placement the structure of daily life kicks in and normality replaces those first few hours of awkwardness and polite small talk – a relief, I think, for everyone. Except that in Zadie’s case, without school, the only routine to her day was the observance of five obligatory prayers.

The day after her arrival I was woken by the sound of running water. I opened my eyes to a faint orange glow from the street lamps outside my bedroom window. Blinking, I checked the time on my phone; it was just after 5 a.m. I knew it must have been Zadie using the bathroom as Emily was a hibernator, always reluctant to leave her bed in the mornings, and though Jamie still tended to get up early he was drawn by the lure of his Xbox rather than any wish to have a shower.

I yawned, threw my duvet back and pulled on my long dressing gown. It wasn’t until I had almost reached the bathroom that I realised Zadie was probably preparing herself for dawn prayers. Having taken my Wiki papers to bed, I knew that Muslims were expected to perform wudu before praying, a ritual washing of the hands, feet, face, arms to the elbow and feet.

‘Are you OK, Zadie?’ I whispered, tapping quietly on the closed door.

‘Yes, sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you.’

‘It’s all right, honey. Not to worry. As long as you’re OK.’ Our whispered exchange was the longest conversation we’d had since Peggy had left the previous evening. Zadie had politely declined when I invited her to join us for something to eat, asking whether I minded if she went straight to bed. I knew she must have been exhausted so of course I told her it was fine, but I worried that she might have been staying out of the way because she felt unwelcome.

Leaving Zadie to get on with her prayers, I went back to bed for an hour but was too alert to go back to sleep. Lying awake on top of the duvet, I listened to the swirling sound of the sink emptying and then the whoosh as the taps went on again. When she finally finished washing I pictured the teenager up in her room bowing, prostrating and then sitting to face Mecca in Saudi Arabia. I couldn’t help but admire her self-discipline. With no adults persuading her, she had still managed to get herself up before dawn. Whatever the problems at home, it was unlikely, I thought, to be a case of the needle on her ethical compass swinging too far in the wrong direction.

At the more civilised hour of 7 a.m, we all sat around the breakfast table. Zadie, dressed in a black robe and baggy cardigan that looked far too big for her, hung her head in silence. Emily, though friendly, tended to be a bit more reserved when older children first came to stay and so I was missing the noisy banter that usually flew between her and Jamie. If Zadie was a toddler, Emily would have been clowning around and trying to make her giggle, but since she was close to her own age she merely threw the odd smile her way and studied her cereal with unusual interest. I tried to behave naturally and let them all get on with it. Children generally hate being thrown together and time usually smoothes the jagged edges.

Sure enough, after a minute or two Emily looked Zadie’s way. ‘You were up early,’ she said as she buttered some toast.

Zadie nodded, lowering her gaze.

‘Do you have to get up early to pray?’ Jamie asked before ramming another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. He always seemed to eat as if he was expecting a famine.

‘Yes,’ she whispered, her gaze lingering on Jamie for a second or two before darting back to the table. It was a penetrative look, as if trying to detect whether he had been mocking her. The flash of suspicion in her eyes reminded me that there was a real person beneath the head scarf.

‘And is it true that you’re not allowed to –’

‘J-amie,’ I said warningly. ‘Shall we save the interrogation for another day?’

He shrugged and blew out a huff of breath so that his lips vibrated noisily. Zadie looked up again, her dark eyes sweeping over us. I think she must have recognised Jamie’s interest as simple curiosity because the frozen angle of her shoulders seemed to soften a little. She continued to watch both Emily and Jamie whenever their attention drifted from her but, as is often the way with teenagers until the ice is broken, as soon as they made an effort to include her she averted her gaze, overcome by a sudden urge to examine the back of her hands.

‘Not very hungry this morning, Zadie?’ I asked. Her toast, though she had cut each slice into neat little squares and arranged them in lines across her plate, remained uneaten.

She looked at me warily. ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Sorry. It’s very nice though. Thank you.’

‘You should try to eat something, honey. How about some cereal?’

She gave her head a tiny shake.

‘When was the last time you ate?’ I pressed. Even though her skin was coffee-coloured there was a pallor to it that I hadn’t noticed the previous evening. She looked awfully washed out.

‘It’s OK. I’ll …’ She picked up a tiny square of toast and took a tentative nibble. With her free hand she rearranged the left-over pieces of toast until there was an equal distance between each of them. Her fingers trembled as she worked and I could tell that Jamie had noticed too. He sat transfixed and was about to open his mouth when Emily, always quick to be kind, whacked him on the shoulder. ‘Come on, you. We’ll be late.’

I mouthed a thank you to Emily as she pushed her chair back. Straightening two fingers, she aimed them at the back of Jamie’s head and crooked her thumb as if firing a gun. I suppressed a grin and she rolled her eyes in his direction. The usual chaotic build-up to leaving the house then commenced, with Jamie emptying the cupboard under the stairs, trying to find his trainers for PE. Halfway through the search he decided it would be a good time to start printing his geography homework.

‘May I leave the table please, Rosie?’ Zadie asked.

‘Of course,’ I said, groaning at Jamie as he switched the computer on.

Zadie began piling the bowls on top of one another. ‘Don’t worry about that, honey. I’ll do it.’

She spoke so softly that I had no idea what she had said, but she continued to collect the crockery and then pottered off to the kitchen. Leaving Jamie to sort the printer out, I took up where he had left off in the hallway. Within 30 seconds I had the trainers in my hands. ‘Oh, Jamie,’ I groaned again, aware of the sound of running water in the kitchen. Five minutes later Emily called out to Zadie from the hall. ‘See you later, Zadie.’

There was a barely audible reply from the direction of the kitchen.

‘Actually, Mum, I think I might stay off today as well,’ Jamie said, beginning to slip his blazer from his shoulders.

‘Oh no you don’t,’ I said, straightening his tie and flattening his sleep-rumpled hair with the palm of my hand. He gave me a look of disbelief. ‘Mum, I like being groomed as much as the next man but I think I can get myself dressed, thanks all the same.’

‘Fair enough,’ I said. Jamie was teetering on the cusp of adolescence and I was still getting used to the transition as well as the tone of sarcasm that threaded all of our recent conversations. ‘Now, have you got everything, honey?’

‘Yep,’ he said, offhandish, driving home the fact that I was meddling in something I had no business with. ‘See you later.’