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at them both.

      ‘I’m pleased to meet you,’ Zeena said quietly. ‘Thank you for letting me stay in your home.’

      I could see Paula was as touched as I was by Zeena’s politeness.

      ‘Do you think Paula could wait here with Zeena while we go and have a chat?’ Tara now asked me.

      ‘Sure,’ Paula said easily.

      ‘Thanks, love,’ I said. ‘We’ll be in the front room if we’re needed.’

      Tara stood and Zeena returned to the sofa. Paula sat next to her. Both girls looked a little uncomfortable and self-conscious, but then teenagers often do when meeting someone new.

      In the front room Tara closed the door so we couldn’t be overheard, and we sat opposite each other. Now she no longer needed to put on a brave and professional face for Zeena’s sake, she looked very worried indeed.

      ‘I don’t know what’s been going on at home,’ she began, with a small sigh. ‘But I’m very concerned. Zeena’s father and another man went to her school today. They were shouting and demanding to see Zeena. They only left when the headmistress threatened to call the police. Zeena was so scared she hid in a cupboard in the stockroom. It took a lot of persuading to get her to come out after they’d gone.’

      ‘What did they want?’ I asked, equally concerned.

      ‘I don’t know,’ Tara said. ‘But they’d come for Zeena. There was no sign of them when I arrived at the school, but Zeena begged me to take her out the back entrance in case they were still waiting at the front. As soon as we were in my car she insisted I put all the locks down and drive away fast. She phoned her mother from the car. It was a very heated discussion with raised voices, although I don’t know what was said as Zeena spoke in Bengali. She was distressed after the call but wouldn’t tell me what her mother had said. I’m going to have to take an interpreter with me when I visit Zeena’s parents.’

      ‘And Zeena won’t tell you why she’s so scared?’ I asked. ‘Or why she thinks her family want to kill her?’

      ‘No. I’m hoping the child protection police officer will have more success. She’s very good.’

      ‘The poor child,’ I said again. ‘She looks petrified. It’s making me nervous too.’

      ‘I know. I’m sorry to have to put you and your family through this. It seems to be escalating. But don’t hesitate to call the police if you need to.’ Which only heightened my unease.

      ‘Perhaps her parents will calm down once they accept Zeena is in care,’ I suggested, which often happened when a child was fostered.

      ‘Hopefully,’ Tara said. ‘Zeena told me in the car that she needed to see a doctor.’

      ‘Why? Is she hurt?’ I asked, concerned.

      ‘No. I asked her if it was an emergency – I would have taken her straight to the hospital, but she said she could wait for an appointment. Can you arrange for her to see a doctor as soon as possible, please?’

      ‘Yes, of course. Will she want to see her own doctor, or shall I register her with mine?’

      ‘We’ll ask her. When we stopped off to get her clothes her mother had the suitcase ready in the hall. She wouldn’t let Zeena into the house and was angry, although again I couldn’t understand what she was saying to Zeena. Eventually she dumped the case on the pavement and slammed the door in our faces. Zeena pressed the bell a few times, but her mother wouldn’t open the door again. When we got in the car Zeena told me she had asked her mother if she could say goodbye to her younger brothers and sisters, but her mother had refused and called her a slut and a whore.’

      I flinched. ‘What a dreadful thing for a mother to say to her daughter.’

      ‘I know,’ Tara said, her brow furrowing. ‘And it raises concerns about the other children at home. I shall be checking on them.’

      ‘Will Zeena be going to school tomorrow?’ I thought to ask.

      ‘We’ll see how she feels and ask her in a moment.’ Tara glanced at her watch. ‘I think I’ve told you everything I know. Let’s go into the living room and talk to Zeena. Then I need to get back to the office and make some phone calls. At least Zeena has some clothes with her.’

      ‘Yes. That will help,’ I said. Often the children I looked after arrived in what they stood up in, which meant they had to make do from my supply of spares until I had the chance to go to the shops and buy them new clothes.

      Paula and Zeena were sitting on the sofa, still looking self-conscious, but at least talking a little.

      ‘Thanks, love,’ I said to Paula, who now stood.

      ‘Is it OK if I go to my room?’ she asked. ‘Or do you still need me?’

      ‘No, do as you like,’ I said. ‘Thanks for your help.’

      ‘Thank you for sitting with me,’ Zeena said politely.

      ‘You’re welcome,’ Paula said, smiling at Zeena. ‘Catch up with you later.’ She left the room.

      Tara returned to sit on the sofa and I took the easy chair.

      ‘I’ve explained to Cathy what happened at school this morning,’ Tara said to Zeena. ‘Also that you need to see a doctor.’

      Zeena gave a small nod and looked down.

      ‘Would you like to see your own family doctor?’ Tara now asked her.

      ‘No!’ Zeena said, sitting bolt upright and staring at Tara. ‘No. You mustn’t take me there. Please don’t make me see him. I won’t go.’

      ‘All right,’ Tara said, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. ‘I won’t force you to see him, of course not. You can see Cathy’s doctor. I just wanted to hear your views. You may have preferred to see the doctor you knew.’

      ‘No!’ Zeena cried again, shaking her head.

      ‘I’ll arrange for you to see my doctor then,’ I said quickly, for clearly this was causing Zeena a lot of distress. ‘There are two doctors in the practice I use, a man and a woman. They are both lovely people and good doctors.’

      Zeena looked at me. ‘Are they white?’ she asked.

      ‘Yes. But I can arrange for you to see an Asian doctor if you prefer. There is another practice not far from here.’

      ‘No!’ Zeena cried again. ‘I can’t see an Asian doctor.’

      ‘All right, love,’ I said. ‘Don’t upset yourself. But can I ask you why you want a white doctor? Tara told me you asked for a white foster carer. Is there a reason?’ I was starting to wonder if this was a form of racism, in which case I would find Zeena’s views wholly unacceptable.

      She was looking down and chewing her bottom lip as she struggled to find the right words. Tara was waiting for her reply too.

      ‘It’s difficult for you to understand,’ she began, glancing at me. ‘But the Asian network is huge. Families, friends and even distant cousins all know each other and they talk. They gossip and tell each other everything, even what they are not supposed to. There is little confidentiality in the Asian community. If I had an Asian social worker or carer my family would know where I was within an hour. I have brought shame on my family and my community. They hate me.’

      Zeena’s eyes had filled and a tear now escaped and ran down her cheek. Tara passed her the box of tissues I kept on the coffee table, while I looked at her, stunned. The obvious question was: what had she done to bring so much shame on her family and community? I couldn’t imagine this polite, self-effacing child perpetrating any crime, let alone one so heinous that she’d brought shame on a whole community. But now wasn’t the time to ask. Zeena was upset and needed comforting. Tara was lightly rubbing her arm.

      ‘Don’t

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