The Child Bride (24 page)

‘I understand that,’ Norma said. ‘And it may be that being arrested has given your father, uncle and extended family the shock they need to leave you alone, but I’m not convinced. Be vigilant and dial 999 if you are worried about your safety. If you change your mind about the move, let me know.’

‘I will,’ Zeena said as Tara made notes. ‘Thank you.’

‘I’ve set up contact with your brothers and sisters,’ Tara now said. ‘You will be seeing them this Friday for an hour after school. The contact will take place in their school. It will be less disruptive for them than going to a contact centre. Because your youngest sister, Arya, doesn’t go to school yet, I’ve arranged for your mother to bring her to the school at the end of the day, leave her there and then return at the end of contact to collect all the children. You needn’t see her if you don’t want to.’

‘And my parents have agreed to all this?’ Zeena asked, astonished.

‘Yes,’ Tara said. ‘I spoke to your father after he’d been arrested. I persuaded him it would cause his family a lot less embarrassment if you could see your siblings in their school rather than having you turn up outside it – where everyone can see – and then follow them home.’

‘That’s wonderful,’ Zeena said, finally smiling. ‘Thank you so much.’

‘It’s just for this week,’ Tara said. ‘But hopefully I’ll be able to arrange more contact in the future.’

‘Now, to the matter of the phone,’ Norma said to Zeena. ‘The one you use to talk to Farhad. I can understand why you feel you have to keep answering his calls, but I think if you ignored him he’s likely to get fed up, and then divorce you. You know that under Sharia law he can divorce you by saying “I divorce you” three times. I believe it’s called triple talaq.’

Zeena was clearly surprised that Norma knew this, as I was. ‘Yes, but a woman can’t do that,’ she said.

‘I know,’ Norma said. ‘But he can. I’d like to have a look at your phone now, please – the one he uses.’

I felt Zeena tense beside me. ‘Why do you need to see the phone?’ she asked.

‘We can learn a lot from a call log.’

‘The phone doesn’t work well,’ Zeena said evasively.

‘That doesn’t matter. I’m not going to use it,’ Norma said. ‘I’d just like to see his number and the times and dates of the calls.’

Norma waited, as did Tara and I. We were all looking at Zeena.

‘He uses different numbers,’ Zeena said, fiddling with her fingers.

‘That’s all right,’ Norma said. ‘I’ll make a note of all the numbers. But how many phones does he own?’

Zeena couldn’t meet her gaze. ‘He borrows other people’s phones,’ Zeena said. ‘I can’t show you. I don’t want them involved or inconvenienced.’

There was a small silence before Norma said, ‘All right. Let me know if you change your mind and I’ll run some checks on the phone numbers. Now, let’s get that statement taken, then you can have your dinner.’ Norma reached into her briefcase and took out a statement form and a pen. ‘This is specifically about the incident near the school when your father and uncle threatened you,’ she explained to Zeena. ‘I’ll write what you say and then read it back to you. If you’re happy with the statement, then you’ll sign and date it. All right?’

I looked at Zeena. There was only a small hesitation before she said, ‘Yes, I understand. I’m ready to make that statement.’

I could see Norma and Tara were as relieved as I was.

It took over an hour for Norma to write down Zeena’s statement and then read it back to her. Once she’d signed it Norma and Tara left. It was now after six-thirty; they’d been with us for two and a half hours in total and Zeena looked exhausted. Lucy had arrived home while I’d been in the living room with them, and being used to fostering meetings taking place in the house, she hadn’t interrupted but had gone to her room. She and Paula now came downstairs. Paula was holding a letter that had arrived for her that morning.

‘Guess what, Mum?’ she said, smiling. ‘I’ve got an interview for that summer job I applied for.’

‘Fantastic,’ I said. ‘Well done. When is it?’

‘This Friday at four o’clock.’

‘That’s when I’m seeing my brothers and sisters,’ Zeena said.

‘Cool,’ Lucy said.

I left the girls chatting and went to make dinner.

The week continued as planned. I took Zeena to school in the car and then collected her at the end of each day. She didn’t object; she’d been too shaken by her father’s and uncle’s threats. On Thursday I delivered the training for foster carers on life-story work for looked-after children and the feedback was positive, so I was pleased. I kept my presentation notes as this training, like many others, was offered on a regular basis to new carers, and I’d been asked to deliver it again in six months’ time.

By Thursday evening Paula was excitedly nervous about her job interview the following day, and Zeena was just plain excited about seeing her brothers and sisters again. Adrian was out, I think with his girlfriend, which was just as well, as the girls were very noisy that evening and in high spirits. Lucy, who’d attended a number of job interviews before she’d found her present work, gave Paula lots of advice on interview technique, which led Zeena to say, ‘Just be yourself, Paula, and you’ll be fine.’ I thought that was very kind, and good advice – for many situations.

On Friday afternoon when Zeena came out of school she didn’t look as excited as I thought she would be, considering she was going to see her little brothers and sisters.

‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked as she got into the car.

‘I’m worried something might go wrong,’ she said.

‘Like what?’ I asked.

‘My father might have changed his mind, or the little ones might not want to see me.’

‘Tara would have telephoned if the contact was cancelled,’ I reassured her. ‘And of course your brothers and sisters want to see you.’

Yet despite my reassurances, I appreciated that Zeena wouldn’t relax until she was with her siblings and knew it was going to be all right. This meant so much to her. She was, after all, like a mother to them, having largely brought them up.

Fifteen minutes later I parked outside the school. Most of the other children had left now. Only those staying for the after-school club remained. Before we got out of the car Zeena opened her school bag and took out four chocolate bars.

‘I’ve bought them a little treat each,’ she said.

‘That’s nice.’

We got out of the car, went up the short path to the school and I pressed the security button at the side of the main door. The entrance porch where we stood could be seen from the office and presently a member of staff looked out of the window and then released the lock on the door.

Directly inside a woman greeted us. ‘Hello, I’m Brenda, the deputy head,’ she said, with a welcoming smile.

‘Cathy,’ I said. ‘Zeena’s foster carer. Pleased to meet you.’ She knew Zeena.

‘We’re holding the contact in the nursery where there are plenty of activities,’ she said. ‘This way. The contact supervisor is already here.’

We followed her through a set of double doors and then down a corridor, into the large, colourful and well-stocked nursery. Three little faces looked up from the sandpit where they were playing. Immediately standing, they rushed over with cries of ‘Zee! Zee!’ which seemed to be their nickname for her. They fell into her outstretched arms with such force that she stumbled back, laughing. But where was the fourth child, I wondered? I glanced around the nursery, smiled at the contact supervisor, whom I recognized from the family centre, but couldn’t see the youngest child. Perhaps she was using the bathroom.

‘Where’s Arya?’ Zeena now asked, as she hugged her two brothers and her sister.

‘Your mother hasn’t brought her yet,’ Brenda said. ‘I’ve tried phoning home but no one is answering.’

‘She won’t be coming,’ Zeena said, a little sadly.

‘There’s still time,’ Brenda said. ‘They may have been delayed.’

‘She won’t be coming,’ Zeena said again, still hugging her siblings but clearly disappointed that the youngest wasn’t there. ‘I just know it.’

‘Make the most of your time with the others,’ I said to her. ‘I’ll phone Tara from the car and let her know Arya hasn’t arrived.’

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

As I left, Zeena’s siblings took her by the arms and were excitedly leading her to the sandpit to resume their game, happy to be with her again. At least that part was going well, I thought.

I’d planned to wait in my car during the hour’s contact as it wasn’t worth me driving home and back again, and I’d brought a book to read. Once in the car I telephoned Tara’s office number, but a colleague answered and said she was out of the office on a home visit, so I left a message for her to phone me when she was free. Perhaps there was a valid reason why Zeena’s mother hadn’t brought little Arya. I hoped so, for if it was a deliberate act by her parents – to deprive Zeena of the chance to see her youngest sister – then it was cruel and hurtful.

I opened my book and tried to concentrate. I was parked near the front of the school and in sight of the main entrance. Each time anyone walked past I looked up in the vague hope it was Zeena’s mother bringing little Arya, but at 4.30 I had to admit she wasn’t coming. At 4.50, ten minutes before the end of contact, Tara returned my telephone call and I told her that Zeena’s mother hadn’t brought Arya to school.

I heard her sigh. ‘And she didn’t let the school know she wasn’t coming?’

‘No,’ I said.

‘She hasn’t left a message for me either. There’s nothing I can do now. I’ll speak to Zeena’s parents as soon as I can next week. I suppose there’s a chance she might bring Arya with her when she collects the other children at the end. Then at least Zeena will have a chance to see her briefly.’ But I could tell from her voice that she didn’t think it was likely.

We wished each other a pleasant weekend and said goodbye, then I closed my book ready to go into contact to collect Zeena. At her age she didn’t really need me to ‘collect’ her as such, and I could have waited in the car, but I thought it would be nice if she had some support when it came to saying goodbye to her siblings. It would also give me a chance to meet her mother.

I was about to get out of the car when a woman who could have been Zeena’s mother walked by. If it was her she hadn’t brought Arya with her, for she was alone. I watched her turn into the path that led to the school and I got out of the car. As I arrived at the main door it opened and she went in ahead of me. I then paused and held the door open for another parent coming up the path who was presumably collecting her child from the after-school club.

Inside, the woman I thought could be Zeena’s mother had disappeared in the direction of the nursery where contact was taking place, which rather confirmed that it was her. I felt my pulse quicken. I should take the opportunity to speak to her and try to establish a working relationship. Although I knew what had happened to Zeena, it wasn’t my place to judge or criticize her parents. When I met Zeena’s mother I would show her the same respect and dignity I show everyone.

She was already in the nursery, standing with her back to me, and she didn’t look round as I entered. The first thing that struck me was the silence. When I’d left the nursery at the start of contact it had been to the excited cries of Zeena’s brothers and sisters, happy to see her and eager to play. Now there was silence and an atmosphere you could have cut with a knife. When Zeena’s mother had entered everyone had stood still like statues. Zeena was in the ‘home corner’ surrounded by her siblings and facing her mother across the room. Brenda was standing equidistant between them, as though ready to intervene and mediate if necessary. Even the contact supervisor, seated at one of the children’s tables, had stopped writing and was watching.

Zeena’s mother spoke first and said something in Bengali.

The contact supervisor said, ‘Could you speak in English, please?’ Zeena’s mother didn’t repeat it.

‘Where’s Arya?’ Zeena now asked her mother from across the room.

‘At home,’ her mother said, with a strong accent.

‘You were supposed to bring her,’ Zeena said quietly.

‘She’s ill,’ her mother replied.

‘What’s the matter with her?’ Zeena asked as the contact supervisor wrote.

Her mother shrugged and then said something else in Bengali, which must have been ‘collect your belongings’ or similar, for Zeena’s brothers and sister immediately left Zeena’s side and walked sombrely to the coat pegs where their jumpers and school bags hung. Brenda and the contact supervisor were watching this carefully. I thought now was probably a good time to introduce myself to Zeena’s mother. I took a few steps round to face her.

‘Hello, I’m Cathy, Zeena’s foster carer,’ I said, with a smile.

She gave a small, silent nod but didn’t say anything. She looked worn and weary, and much older than the thirty-one years of age I knew her to be.

‘I hope Arya is better soon,’ Brenda now said diplomatically, coming over.

Zeena’s mother nodded again and then said, ‘Come,’ to the children.

They walked obediently to her side. Zeena had remained in the home corner and hadn’t had a chance to say goodbye.

‘Come over and say goodbye,’ I called to her. ‘Then we’ll wait here while they go.’ I thought this was preferable to us all being outside on the pavement together.

Zeena now came over. Her brothers and sister were standing obediently beside their mother. Zeena began hugging and kissing each of them in turn, making the most of what was likely to be her last opportunity to hold them for some time – until Tara set up another contact.

‘I love you,’ she said, hugging the eldest boy first.

‘I love you too,’ he said, holding her tightly. It was very moving.

‘I’ll miss you,’ Zeena said, moving on to her sister.

‘I’ll miss you, Zee,’ her sister said in a tiny voice. ‘I wish you could come home and look after us like you used to. Why don’t you?’

I saw Zeena swallow hard. ‘It’s difficult,’ she said. ‘But I love you just the same.’

When she hugged her other brother he said, ‘It’s not nice at home without you.’