The Child Bride - Cathy Glass

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The dish is very hot,’ I said. ‘You sit down, pet.’

      Zeena sat beside Paula and opposite Lucy. Using the oven gloves I carried in the dish of pasta bake and set in on the pad in the centre of the table, next to the bowl of salad. I returned to the kitchen for the crusty French bread, which I’d warmed in the oven, and set that on the table too.

      ‘Mmm, yummy,’ Paula said, while Lucy began serving herself.

      ‘It’s just pasta, vegetables and cheese,’ I said to Zeena. ‘Help yourself. I hope you like it.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m sure I will.’

      When a child first arrives, mealtimes can be awkward for them. Having to sit close to people they don’t know and eat can be quite intimidating, although I do all I can to make them feel at ease. Some children who’ve never had proper mealtimes at home may have never sat at a dining table or used cutlery, so it’s a whole new learning experience for them. However, this wasn’t true of Zeena. As we ate I could see that Lucy and Paula were as impressed as I was by her table manners. She sat upright at the table and ate slowly and delicately, chewing every mouthful, and never spoke and ate at the same time. Every so often she would delicately dab her lips with her napkin. All her movements were so smooth and graceful they reminded me of a beautiful swan in flight or a ballet dancer.

      When she’d finished she paired her cutlery noiselessly in the centre of her plate and sipped her water. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s such a treat to be cooked for.’

      ‘Good. I’m pleased.’ I smiled.

      We just had fruit and yoghurt for dessert and Zeena thanked me again. Then we stayed at the table and talked for a while. Lucy did most of the talking and kept us entertained with anecdotes about the children she looked after at the nursery. A couple of times Zeena joined in with reminiscences about one of her younger siblings, but she looked sad when she spoke of them, and said she missed them and they would miss her. I reassured her again that Tara would try to arrange for her to see them as soon as possible. Zeena’s mobile phone had been on her lap during dinner and while I didn’t usually allow phones, game consoles or toys at the meal table, it was Zeena’s first night and I hadn’t said anything. It now rang.

      ‘Excuse me,’ she said, standing, and left the room to take the call.

      We could hear her talking in the hall in a mixture of Bengali and English, effortlessly alternating between the languages as bilingual people can do. We didn’t listen but continued our conversation, with Zeena’s voice in the background.

      ‘We were with Zeena when she spoke to her mother before,’ Lucy said. ‘I don’t know what her mother said to her but it wasn’t good.’

      ‘What makes you say that?’ I asked.

      ‘Zeena was upset and her mum sounded angry on the phone.’

      ‘Why is she in care?’ Paula asked.

      ‘Zeena asked to come into care,’ I said. ‘She hasn’t told the social worker what happened; only that she’s been abused.’

      ‘Oh dear,’ Paula said sadly.

      ‘Zeena needs to start talking about what happened to her,’ Lucy said, speaking from experience.

      ‘I know,’ I said. ‘If she does tell you anything, remember you need to persuade her to tell me.’

      The girls nodded solemnly. Sometimes the child or young person we were fostering disclosed the abuse they’d suffered to my children first. Lucy, Paula and Adrian knew they had to tell me if this happened so that I could alert the social worker and better protect the child. It was distressing for us all to hear these disclosures, but it was better for the child when they began to unburden themselves and share what had happened to them, as Lucy knew.

      When Zeena had finished her telephone call she didn’t return to sit with us but went straight up to her room. I gave her a few minutes and then I went up to check she was all right. Her door was open so I gave a brief knock and went in. She was sitting on the bed with her phone in her hand, texting. ‘Are you OK?’ I asked.

      ‘Yes, thank you.’ She glanced up. ‘I’m texting my friends from school.’

      ‘As long as you are all right,’ I said, and came out.

      I returned downstairs to find Lucy and Paula clearing the table and stacking the dishwasher. ‘We should help you more,’ Paula said.

      ‘Starting from now, we will,’ Lucy added.

      I thought that Zeena’s stay was going to have a very good influence on them!

      Shortly before eight o’clock Adrian arrived home. All three girls and I were in the living room watching some television when we heard a key go in the front-door lock and the door open. ‘It’s my son, Adrian,’ I reminded Zeena as she instinctively tensed.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, relieved.

      I went down the hall to greet him and then we returned to the living room so he could meet Zeena. She stood as we entered and Adrian went over and shook her hand. ‘Very pleased to meet you,’ he said.

      ‘And you,’ she said, shyly.

      At twenty-two he was over six feet tall and towered over the rest of us, especially Zeena, who was so petite she looked like a doll beside him.

      ‘I hope you’re settling in,’ he said to her.

      ‘Yes, thank you,’ she said, again shyly.

      Adrian then said hi to Lucy and Paula and went to shower before eating. The girls and I watched the news on television and then Zeena asked me if it was all right if she had an early night.

      ‘Of course, love,’ I said. ‘You must be exhausted. I’ll show you where everything is in the bathroom and get you some fresh towels.’

      ‘Thank you. It’s strange not having to put my little brothers and sisters to bed,’ she said as we went down the hall.

      ‘I’m sure they’ll be fine. Your mum will look after them.’

      ‘I hope so,’ she said, thoughtfully.

      At the foot of the stairs Zeena suddenly put her hand on my arm. ‘Do you lock the back door as well as the front door at night?’ she asked anxiously.

      ‘Yes, and bolt it. Don’t worry, you’re safe here.’

      ‘What about the windows?’ she asked. ‘Are those locked too?’

      ‘No, but they can’t be opened from the outside.’

      I looked at her; she was scared, and worried for her safety, but why?

      ‘Trust me, love,’ I said. ‘No one can get in.’

      ‘Thank you. I’ll try to remember that,’ she said.

       Sobbing

      Zeena slept well that night, although I didn’t. I’m always restless the first few nights after a new child arrives, listening out in case they are out of bed or upset and need reassuring. Nevertheless, I was awake as usual at six o’clock and fell out of bed and into the shower while the rest of the house slept. When I came out, dressed, I was surprised to see Zeena on the landing in her nightshirt and looking very worried.

      ‘What’s the matter?’ I asked her quietly, so as not to wake the others.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I should have set the alarm on my phone.’

      ‘It’s only early,’ I said. ‘I was going to wake you at seven when I wake Lucy and Paula.’

      ‘But I have to do my chores before I go to school,’ she said.

      ‘What

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