The Child Bride - Cathy Glass

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to you, but she telephoned her mother and apparently she is all right about Zeena going over for her things. However, Lucy said that her mother sounded angry on the phone, although she didn’t know what she’d said.’

      ‘Thanks. I’ll phone Zeena,’ Tara said, even more concerned. Then, lowering her voice so she couldn’t be overheard, she added, ‘Has Zeena said anything to you about the nature of the abuse she’s suffered?’

      ‘No, but she has told me a bit about her home life. Are you aware of all the responsibility she has – for the cooking, cleaning, ironing and looking after her younger siblings?’

      ‘No. I hardly know anything about the family. They’ve never come to the notice of the social services before. What has Zeena said?’

      I now repeated what Zeena had told me, and also that she’d been up early, expecting to clean the house before she went to school. As a foster carer I’m duty-bound to tell the social worker what I know and to keep him or her regularly informed and updated, as they are legally responsible for the child while in care. The child or children I foster know I can’t keep their secrets, and if they tell me anything that is important to their safety or well-being then I have to pass it on so the necessary measures can be taken to protect and help them.

      ‘It does seem excessive,’ Tara said when I’d finished. ‘I know that the eldest girl in some Asian families often has more responsibility for domestic chores than her younger siblings, or the boys, but this sounds extreme. I’ll raise it when I see her parents, which I’m hoping to do soon. Thanks, Cathy. Was there anything else?’

      ‘I don’t think so. I’ll make the doctor’s appointment as soon as the practice opens.’

      ‘Thank you. I’ll phone Zeena now. I also want to speak to her school.’

      She thanked me again and we said goodbye. Tara came across as a very conscientious social worker who genuinely cared about the children she was responsible for and would go that extra mile. That she’d telephoned me on her way into work because she was worrying about Zeena said it all. She was as concerned as I was about her using the bus, and when Zeena hadn’t texted me by 8.50 a.m. – the time she should have arrived at school – my concerns increased.

      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

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