The Child Bride - Cathy Glass

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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.

       Scared into Silence

      ‘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.’

      ‘Let’s wait and see,’ I said, feeling that perhaps Zeena was so upset that she was overstating the situation. ‘But we do need to tell Tara what’s happened. When she visits your parents she can talk to them. Social workers are used to dealing with difficult family matters. I’m sure she’ll know what to say so you can see your family.’

      She shrugged despondently. ‘I suppose it’s worth a try,’ she said. ‘Shall I phone her now?’

      ‘If you wish, or I can?’

      ‘I’ll tell her,’ Zeena said.

      ‘If her voicemail is on, leave a message and ask her to call back,’ I said.

      At Zeena’s age and with her level of maturity she could reasonably telephone her social worker if she wished. When younger children or those with learning difficulties were in foster care then it was usually the carer who made the telephone calls. However, as Zeena took another tissue from the box and blew her nose the landline rang. Paula, aware I was busy with Zeena, answered it in the hall.

      ‘Mum, it’s for you,’ she called.

      ‘Who is it?’ I asked.

      ‘A police lady.’

      ‘Thank you. I’ll take it in here.’

      Zeena looked at me anxiously as I picked up the handset on the corner table.

      ‘It’s nothing to worry about,’ I said. ‘It’ll be the child protection officer – Tara said she would phone.’ Then I said into the receiver, ‘Hello, Cathy speaking.’

      ‘Hello, Cathy. It’s DI Norma Jones, child protection. I believe you have Zeena P— staying with you.’

      ‘Yes. She’s with me now.’

      ‘Can I speak to her, please?’

      ‘Yes, of course.’

      I held the phone out to Zeena, but she shook her head and looked even more worried. ‘You talk to her, please,’ she said quietly.

      I returned the phone to my ear. ‘She’s a bit upset at present,’ I said. ‘Can I give her a message?’

      ‘I need to make an appointment to see her as soon as possible. Can I visit you tomorrow after school? About five o’clock?’

      ‘Yes. That’s fine,’ I said. ‘Just a moment.’ I looked at Zeena, who was now mouthing something.

      ‘What, love?’ I asked her.

      ‘Is she Asian?’ Zeena whispered.

      I can’t ask that, I thought, but then given Zeena’s concerns about the Asian network I thought I had to. ‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘but Zeena wants to know if you’re Asian?’

      ‘No. I’m white British,’ she said, easily. ‘Please tell her there is nothing to worry about and I’m aware of her concerns. But I will need to interview her about

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