The Child Bride (10 page)

The leaflet was intended for the person with the condition, but I felt that as Zeena was so young it would be helpful if I went through it with her, rather than just leaving her to read it. When she’d finished her bath she came downstairs and was ready for her dinner. I sat with her at the table while she ate. She was subdued, but managed to eat a fair amount while I talked to her about things in general – Paula’s cooking, going to university, homework. After she’d finished eating we went into the living room and sat side by side on the sofa with the leaflet between us where I talked her through the information. She didn’t say anything but seemed to be taking it all in. When we came to the end I asked her if she had any questions, but she didn’t.

‘Put the leaflet away, then,’ I said. ‘And if you think of any questions, ask me. If I don’t know the answer we can find it on the internet.’

She thanked me and said she’d go upstairs to her room and do her homework.

‘OK, love,’ I said. ‘But don’t sit alone and brood if you’re unhappy. Now that I know, you don’t have to shoulder this alone. I’m here to help you, and so is Tara.’

‘Will I have to see the police lady again?’ Zeena asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ I said. Given that Zeena’s ‘abuser’ was in fact her ex-boyfriend, I didn’t know if it was still a police child protection matter, although Zeena was of course under age. ‘I’ll ask Tara,’ I said.

‘Thank you,’ Zeena said, and left the room. As she did the front door flew open and Lucy came in like a hurricane.

‘I’m late!’ she cried. ‘First claim on the bathroom! I’ve got a date!’

I smiled and went into the hall to see Lucy flying up the stairs. ‘Good evening, love,’ I called after her.

‘Hi, Mum!’ she returned.

Zeena was halfway up the stairs when Lucy’s voice came from the bathroom: ‘OMG! Salt! Who’s got the lurgy?’

‘Lucy!’ I cried, and ran upstairs past Zeena. ‘It’s mine,’ I said, going into the bathroom. I was about to make up a reason for needing the salt, like a septic toe or a boil on my bottom, when Zeena appeared.

‘It’s for me,’ she said.

‘But you’re only fourteen!’ Lucy said. ‘Far too young. I need to have a serious talk with you, young lady.’

The inference was clear and I inwardly cringed. Be quiet, Lucy, I thought. With a sinking heart I turned and looked at Zeena, but to my surprise she was smiling.

‘I’d like to have a chat with you too, when you’re not busy,’ Zeena said quietly to Lucy.

‘Tomorrow evening,’ Lucy said.

‘But what you discuss stays in this house,’ I reminded them. ‘It’s confidential.’

‘Of course,’ Lucy said.

‘Have a nice evening,’ Zeena called, and went into her room.

I returned downstairs, relieved. Lucy’s forthright (and outspoken) manner had succeeded where all my gentle, well-intentioned words had failed. By outing Zeena’s condition Lucy had removed the taboo (and with it some of Zeena’s guilt). However, I would put the tub of salt somewhere less obvious just in case Adrian saw it and commented, which would be very embarrassing for Zeena.

With Zeena, Paula and Lucy upstairs and Adrian not home yet, I took the opportunity to sit quietly in the living room with a cup of coffee. Foster carers have to deal with many issues in respect of the children they foster, and it’s essential to remain calm at times of crises and support the child, even though the carer may be going to pieces inside. I’ll admit I was shocked (and concerned) that Zeena, aged just fourteen, had been having a sexual relationship with her boyfriend. I thought it was too young. The law states sixteen as the age a young person can legally have sex and that is for good reason – any younger and the child is considered to lack the emotional maturity to give informed consent. Personally I think sixteen is the absolute minimum, and the advice I had given to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, and the teenagers I’d fostered when we’d had
that
conversation, was that sex should be saved for a loving and committed relationship. At some point Tara and I needed to have a similar conversation with Zeena.

When Lucy had finished getting ready to go out she came downstairs and apologized for not needing any dinner as she was eating out. Kissing me goodbye, she hovered by the front door waiting for her date to ring the bell, as he’d texted to say he was approaching the house. Like Adrian, she would introduce her date to me when she felt ready.

Half an hour after Lucy went out Adrian came in, showered, ate and then went out again to see a friend. With my family grown up, and fostering too, our house was often like a busy railway station with all its comings and goings, and I loved it. Life was never dull. Adrian and Lucy would let themselves in later when they returned, and they knew not to make a noise and wake the rest of the house.

Zeena finished her homework, came downstairs for a glass of water and then said she was going to have an early night. I checked she had everything she needed and we said goodnight. Paula appeared and we watched some television together, and then she too went up to bed. Alone again in the living room I took the opportunity to write up my log notes. It was a difficult entry to write. I had to include Zeena’s refusal to disclose the details of her previous doctor (in case she could be traced), the doctor’s diagnosis, Zeena’s upset, my attempt to comfort her, and the fact that the doctor had asked us to attend the sexual health clinic the following day. I recorded all of this objectively, with no personal opinion or value judgement, as I was supposed to. Once I’d finished I locked the log safely in a drawer in my desk in the front room. Not that anyone in the house would pry, but a foster carer’s notes are confidential and need to be kept safe.

I didn’t sleep well that night. I heard Adrian and Lucy come in – although they didn’t make much noise, I was already awake worrying about Zeena. At one o’clock I got out of bed and went downstairs to make a hot drink, which I drank in the kitchen. When I returned upstairs I heard the low intermittent hum of Zeena’s voice coming from her bedroom. I thought she might be sleep talking or possibly having a nightmare, so I went round the landing and stood outside her bedroom door and listened. There was a silence, and then I heard her clearly say: ‘No, I can’t. I’ve told you, I’m ill.’

I tapped lightly on her door and, opening it, peered into her room. The night light on the landing allowed me to see that Zeena was in bed. ‘Are you awake?’ I whispered.

‘Yes, sorry. My phone woke me. He’s gone now.’

‘Can you switch your phone off at night-time, please,’ I said.

‘Yes, it’s off. I’m going to sleep. Sorry.’

‘OK. Goodnight. See you in the morning.’

I came out and closed her bedroom door. I trusted Zeena to switch off her mobile, and I didn’t think it was odd that she would have answered a call in the middle of the night. Teenagers and many young adults are tied to their mobiles and sleep with them switched on under their pillow. But Zeena needed her sleep just as all young people do, and tomorrow I’d explain the house rules for mobile phones, which Adrian, Lucy and Paula already followed (most of the time), as had the other young people I’d fostered.

‘I like all mobiles to be switched off at night or left downstairs,’ I said to Zeena at breakfast. ‘Adrian, Lucy and Paula switch theirs off before going to sleep and keep them in their rooms. If you feel you want yours to stay on all night then leave it downstairs, please, with the volume off. Also, I don’t usually have mobiles at the table while we’re eating.’

‘I understand,’ Zeena said easily. ‘I’ll make sure it’s off at night.’

‘Good girl.’ I smiled. I find it’s always easier to deal with issues as they arise, rather than leave them to build up and fester.

Lucy was first to leave the house that morning and as usual rushed out five minutes late, slamming the door behind her. Fifteen minutes later Paula left – more sedately – to go to sixth form, and then I woke Adrian with a cup of tea. The sexual health clinic didn’t open until ten o’clock so I had time to telephone Zeena’s school. I was put through to the office, where I told a member of the staff that Zeena wouldn’t be in today as she was ill. I then telephoned Tara and left a message on her voicemail asking her to phone me when she was available. I said it was urgent but not an emergency. A little after 9.30, Zeena and I left the house to go to the clinic. We were both quiet and preoccupied, but as I reversed the car out of the driveway I saw her looking at two men walking up the street.

‘Do you know them?’ I asked, suddenly concerned. My thoughts had been so full of our visit to the clinic, I’d completely forgotten about being vigilant.

‘No,’ Zeena said. ‘I thought I did, but I don’t.’

‘You’d tell me straight away if you did see anyone you knew, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

The hospital where the clinic was situated was about a fifteen-minute drive away. Zeena remained subdued throughout the journey and concentrated on anxiously nibbling her little finger. I could appreciate why she was worried. Having an intimate examination is never pleasant, even for adults, and she was so young to be going through it – and twice in two days. I understood what an ordeal it must be for her, but beyond reassuring her that there was nothing to worry about, and offering platitudes about having the rest of the day off school, there was little I could say.

I entered the hospital car park, parked in one of the visitors’ bays, and then fed the meter an extortionate four pounds for a parking ticket, which I placed on the dashboard of the car. Zeena climbed out and we crossed the car park together, side by side and in silence. Apart from the worry of what lay ahead, I think we both also felt the stigma of attending a sexual health clinic, although I reassured her there was nothing to be embarrassed about. In truth, I had no idea what to expect, as I’d never visited the clinic before, although I’d once fostered a sixteen-year-old girl who’d gone for contraception advice, but she’d wanted to go alone. I was imagining a secluded entrance tucked away around the back of the hospital, which we might have trouble finding.

‘I hope no one sees us going in,’ Zeena said as we approached the signage board at the main entrance.

‘Me too,’ I said. ‘My neighbours will be wondering what I’ve been up to.’

She managed the smallest of smiles. ‘I’m glad you’re with me,’ she said, and kissed my cheek.

The sexual health clinic was listed with all the other wards and departments on the signage board and in the same bold lettering.

‘It’s in the main building,’ I said. ‘Ground floor.’

Zeena slipped her hand into mine just as a young child would, and we went in through the main entrance. Following the signs, we continued along the corridor to the far side of the building – not to a secluded side entrance but into the new extension. Immediately in front of us were automatic glass sliding doors, and a large sign above the entrance stating ‘Sexual Health Clinic’. Zeena dropped my hand as we went in and the doors closed noiselessly behind us. A receptionist sat directly in front of us behind a low modern wooden desk. She greeted us with a welcoming smile. The waiting area was away from outside view, and three others were already there, although the clinic had only just opened.

‘Good morning,’ the receptionist said, with another welcoming smile as we approached the desk. ‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No, I thought it was a walk-in clinic,’ I said.

‘Yes. We run both clinics in the mornings – drop-in and appointments – and appointments only in the afternoon. Would you like to see a doctor now?’

‘Yes please,’ I said.

‘Can I have your name, please?’

‘It’s Zeena,’ Zeena said.

‘And your surname?’

‘Do I have to give it?’ Zeena asked, glancing at me.

‘Not if you don’t want to,’ the receptionist said.

Zeena shook her head. ‘I don’t want to. Sorry.’

‘No problem.’ The receptionist smiled reassuringly. ‘You’ll be seen by a nurse first and then a doctor if necessary. You’re fourth in. While you’re waiting can you fill in this form, please, and then return it to me?’

Zeena accepted the clipboard with the form and pen attached. I thanked the receptionist and led the way to seats away from the others. The chairs were padded and comfortable and as I sat down I relaxed a little. Zeena took the pen from the clipboard and began filling in the form while I gazed around the room. It was bright and airy, with modern furniture, and the walls were dotted with posters – not only about sexual health matters, although there were some, but also about contraception, domestic violence, child abuse and other social issues. There were a couple of display stands containing leaflets, which also covered a wide range of personal health and well-being matters, with a notice saying ‘Help Yourself’. I glanced over at the others waiting: a couple and a single woman. They appeared relaxed and not at all intimidated or embarrassed by being in the clinic, and while they were young – I guessed late teens or early twenties – they were nowhere near as young as Zeena. Again, I felt a deep sadness that Zeena had lost her innocence so young.

‘I’ve filled in what I can,’ Zeena said, tilting the clipboard towards me.

I looked at the partially completed form. She’d left blank the questions that asked for her surname, home and mobile telephone numbers, doctor’s details and ethnicity, although she had filled in our address.

‘You can put in the details of the doctor you saw yesterday,’ I said, and gave her the practice’s address. ‘Also tick the box that says the GP referred you.’ I thought that if the clinic needed the other questions answered then they would ask her.

Zeena took the clipboard with the form to the receptionist, who thanked her with a smile, and then she returned to sit beside me. A nurse came through the door to the left of the reception desk and, looking at the girl sitting alone, said: ‘Mandy, you’re next, love.’

Mandy stood and followed the nurse through the door. A minute or so later a young man came through the door on the right of the reception desk, made another appointment, and then left.

‘Do you want me to come in with you when you see the nurse and doctor?’ I quietly asked Zeena.