The Child Bride

by Cathy Glass

  In the car going home Zeena said: ‘They’re really lovely people. You’re very lucky to have them.’

  And we all agreed.

  Chapter Twelve

  Only Fourteen

  On Monday afternoon I spent over two hours with Serena discussing eight-year-old Billy, who was being rather naughty to put it mildly. We talked about the strategies that had worked over the weekend to correct Billy’s unacceptable behaviour, and I suggested more, which included a system of rewards and sanctions. Serena admitted she felt sorry for Billy because of his past, and because of this she probably hadn’t been as firm with him as she should have, and tended to give in to his demands – which were frequent and loud. ‘I want this now!’ he often shouted at the top of his voice, or ‘No! You can’t make me.’ The whole family had been revolving around Billy as they gave in to him rather than risk him causing a scene – which he was very good at, especially in public places.

  Serena said she was going to implement my strategies straight away, and I told her she could telephone me any time if she needed help or just wanted to ‘offload’. I also suggested she keep a note of the times and situations when Billy’s ‘meltdowns’ (as she called them) occurred, to see if there was a pattern to his behaviour. The school was doing similar, as he had ‘meltdowns’ there too. Serena wasn’t breaking confidence when she told me that Billy had been very badly neglected before coming into care, and that he had frightening nightmares when he screamed out in his sleep for help. Billy’s social worker had referred him to see a psychologist at the Child and Adolescent Mental Health Service (CAMHS), and Serena was waiting for their first appointment.

  Serena came across as a caring and conscientious foster carer who wanted to do the best for Billy but was struggling to cope. He’d been with her for six months and his needs were very different from the babies she’d been used to fostering. Because his behaviour was putting such a huge strain on the whole family, their supervising social worker had suggested they take a weekend break – known as respite – when Billy would go to another carer. I thought this was a very good idea. Billy would enjoy his weekend away – it would be like a little holiday for him – and it would give Serena and her family a chance to recharge their batteries. Fostering is a huge commitment – twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week – and if a child has very challenging or disturbed behaviour the stress is enormous. I was pleased their supervising social worker had had the good sense to suggest respite; so often this isn’t offered, and eventually the placement breaks down because the carers simply can’t take any more, and the child has to be moved to another carer, sometimes with the same result and they have to be moved again.

  I left Serena’s house at 3.15; she was going to collect Billy from school, and I returned to my car. I’d told her that I could visit her again the following week if she wanted me to, but I’d left it to her to decide. I put the key into the ignition, but before I had a chance to start the engine my mobile rang from my handbag. I took it out and pressed to answer the call.

  ‘It’s Miss Birkin, the deputy head of Zeena’s school,’ a female voice said. ‘I’ve got Zeena with me in my office. She’s very upset. Her father is parked outside the school with another man. Can you come and collect her, please?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Straight away. Is Zeena all right?’

  ‘She’s calming down now,’ Miss Birkin said. ‘She was very frightened. Thankfully she spotted them as she was about to leave the building and had the sense to come back inside and tell a member of staff. I’ll keep her with me until you arrive.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘Park in the staff car park and come into reception.’

  ‘All right.’

  I returned my mobile to my bag, started the car and pulled away from the kerb. I drove quickly – more quickly than I should have done – but I was worried about Zeena, and also puzzled. What was Zeena’s father doing outside her school when he and his family had disowned her? Was it possible he now wanted to make it up with Zeena, and that she had overreacted? Or was he angry with her for going to see her little brothers and sisters at their school on Friday? I didn’t know what, if any, telephone contact Zeena had been having with her family. I assumed not a lot, but at her age it was impossible to monitor phone contact as foster carers are often asked to do by social workers for younger children. Once a young person had a mobile phone, contact was in their hands.

  I’d never been to Zeena’s school before, but I knew where it was. Fifteen minutes later I pulled into the staff car park. Children were still leaving the building and staff cars were in the car park. On the road outside parents were waiting in their cars for their children so the road was still busy. I couldn’t see two men in a car, but I couldn’t be sure they weren’t there somewhere. I climbed out, glanced around and, pressing the fob to lock the car, followed the large sign that pointed the way to reception.

  The main doors, usually security locked, were now opening regularly as children filed out. As they opened I went in. On my right was a low curved counter, behind which was an open-plan office-cum-reception area with two female staff. One of the ladies was talking to a parent further along the counter and the other came to me. ‘Can I help you?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m Cathy Glass. I’ve come to collect Zeena. She’s with Miss Birkin.’

  ‘Yes, hello. We spoke on the phone last week,’ she said, with a smile. ‘I’ll phone up to Miss Birkin.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  She went to the far side of the office to make the call. I heard her say, ‘Zeena’s carer is here,’ and then she replaced the receiver. ‘She won’t be long,’ she said.

  I thanked her and waited to one side, out of the way. A few minutes later Zeena appeared with Miss Birkin, who shook my hand as she introduced herself. Zeena looked pale and serious but not distraught. ‘How are you, love?’ I asked.

  ‘OK,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine now you’re here,’ Miss Birkin said. ‘The car has gone. I checked a little while ago.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘My car is just outside in the car park.’

  ‘You go home now and relax,’ Miss Birkin said to Zeena. Then to me: ‘Thank you for collecting her.’

  Miss Birkin didn’t appear to have anything else to say about the incident, so I thanked her and we said goodbye. As we left the building I saw Zeena look around. ‘They’re not here, are they?’ I asked her.

  ‘No,’ she said.

  I pressed the fob to unlock the car and we got in. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked, before I started the engine.

  She nodded.

  ‘It was your father in the car with another man?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Zeena said.

  ‘Who was the other man?’

  ‘One of my uncles,’ she said. I pulled away.

  ‘What did they want? Do you know?’

  Zeena didn’t answer.

  ‘You were obviously very frightened,’ I said. ‘I think I should take you to school and collect you in future.’

  ‘No,’ Zeena said. ‘They’ll see your car and then find out where I live.’ Which was what she’d said before when I’d made the same offer.

  ‘And you don’t know what they wanted?’ I asked.

  Zeena shook her head.

  I glanced at her. ‘So how do you know your father didn’t want to make it up with you? Perhaps he was going to ask you to go home.’

  ‘He wants me home,’ Zeena said in a flat voice, staring out of her side window. ‘But to carry on as we were before.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’ I asked. ‘Have you spoken to him?’

  ‘Yes. He phones sometimes when I’m at school.’

  ‘Did he phone you today?’

  She nodded. ‘I thought he might be outside school, which was why I looked carefully before I left.’

  ‘What did he say when he phoned you?’ I asked, glancing bet
ween Zeena and the road ahead.

  ‘That I should go home, and I was bringing dishonour on my family. Then he called me lots of names. I told him I’d rather die than go back. He said I might if I caused any more trouble.’

  ‘He threatened you?’ I asked, shocked.

  ‘Yes, but he’s always threatening me,’ she said, with a small dismissive shrug. ‘Can we talk about something else now, please?’ Once again Zeena had closed the shutter on what she was prepared to tell me, and I knew I shouldn’t ask any more at present.

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘But one of us will need to tell Tara what has happened.’

  ‘You can,’ Zeena said.

  When we arrived home Paula was already in, sitting in the garden and listening to her music as the day had turned warm. I called hello from the open patio doors and told her Zeena was with me.

  ‘Tell her to come out here,’ Paula said.

  ‘Will do.’

  Once Zeena had poured herself a glass of water she joined Paula in the garden, while I sat on the sofa and phoned Tara’s office. It was 4.30, so there was a good chance she would be there. She answered straight away and I told her what had happened at Zeena’s school, and that her father was in telephone contact with her and had threatened her, although Zeena hadn’t given me any details. I finished with my suggestion that in future I should take her to school and collect her, but that Zeena had refused.

  ‘I think you should,’ Tara said. ‘It’s very worrying, but if she’s still refusing you can’t force her. At least she had the sense to stay in school and tell someone. I’ll update Norma. She has spoken to her father already and warned him to stay away from her school. I think she needs to see him again.’

  Tara then thanked me for collecting Zeena and we said goodbye, and I joined the girls in the garden. It was a lovely afternoon and I found the warmth of the sun on my skin very therapeutic. After about twenty minutes I went inside to begin dinner. I hadn’t been in the kitchen long when the landline rang. I wasn’t altogether surprised to hear Norma.

  ‘Tara tells me there was an incident at Zeena’s school today,’ she began.

  ‘Yes. Her father and an uncle went there.’

  ‘The school had no right to ask you to collect Zeena. They should have phoned me.’ Norma sounded annoyed.

  ‘I didn’t mind,’ I said, thinking she felt I had been inconvenienced.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ she said. ‘The school knew they had to contact me if her father came looking for Zeena again. There could have been an ugly scene, and how do you know you weren’t followed home? Did you check?’

  I hadn’t. I’d checked outside the school for the car, but not as I’d driven home. ‘Not really,’ I admitted. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Norma said. ‘The school shouldn’t have asked you. I’m trying my best to keep Zeena in this area so she can be with her friends, but something as simple as this could have blown the whole thing.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said again.

  ‘Hopefully it’ll be OK. I take it they’re not outside your house?’

  ‘I don’t think so, but I’ll have a look when we’ve finished.’

  ‘Yes please, and be vigilant. Dial emergency 999 if you see them. Her father is driving an old blue Ford Fiesta, but that could change. I’ll speak to him again, and the uncle, and threaten them with an injunction. I’ll also speak to Miss Birkin tomorrow, but in future please call me if in doubt.’

  ‘I will,’ I said, and apologized again.

  ‘Tell Zeena I called,’ Norma said. ‘And if she thinks of anything she wants to tell me, she can phone my mobile.’

  ‘I’ll tell her,’ I said.

  We said goodbye and I hung up. The complacency that had crept into my vigilance and the security surrounding Zeena disappeared in an instant. I went into the front room and peered from the windows. I couldn’t see a car matching Norma’s description – there was none parked within view. I then went to the front door and out onto the pavement, where I looked up and down the road. Again, no sign of a blue Ford Fiesta. I returned indoors and went through to the garden where Zeena and Paula were chatting. I told Zeena that Norma had telephoned and gave her the message that if she thought of anything that might help, she should phone Norma’s mobile.

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’ She continued chatting to Paula.

  I returned indoors and resumed making dinner. I’d only done as I’d been asked when I’d collected Zeena from school, so I didn’t feel guilty. I thought it was reassuring that Norma was being so conscientious and taking such an interest in Zeena. As a child protection police officer she must have had many cases to deal with, so it was heartening that she was spending so much time on Zeena’s. But of course with that came the unsettling acknowledgement that Zeena’s case must be of such gravity that it merited the time, and that Zeena was in very real danger.

  The following morning I again offered to take Zeena to school in my car, but she politely refused, and promised to text me as soon as she arrived. I asked her to message me when she got on the bus as well, and she agreed to do so. As I saw her to our front gate I was especially vigilant, checking up and down the road for any sign of a blue Ford, or anyone sitting in a car or loitering suspiciously, but there was no one. I watched her walk up the street and she gave a little wave before she turned the corner and was out of sight. I had to accept Zeena’s assurance that her father wouldn’t approach her in a public place and risk a scene or being arrested. She knew her family; I didn’t. Nevertheless, I was relieved when she texted to say she was on the bus, and then again when she’d arrived at school.

  The week continued without incident until Thursday when I received a text message. It began: The results of your tests are as follows … It didn’t say it was from the sexual health clinic, so it wasn’t until I started reading the list of sexually transmitted diseases with the results of the tests next to them that I realized who it was from. Zeena hadn’t mentioned the tests since our visit to the clinic the week before, and what with everything else going on, together with my assumption that the results would come back negative, it hadn’t been at the forefront of my mind either. As I looked down the text message I saw the results were all negative, including HIV, which was a relief, until I got to chlamydia, where the result was positive. I was shocked that a fourteen-year-old girl had contracted not only herpes but chlamydia as well.

  The text also said that as treatment was required I should make an appointment to attend the clinic as soon as possible. I guessed it was a standard text message and the referral nurse hadn’t noticed that the contact number was not the patient’s but the foster carer’s. Not that it mattered. It was now 10.30 a.m. and Zeena was at school. I wasn’t sure if I should wait until she came home to tell her the results or text her now. She hadn’t wanted to give the clinic her mobile number, but a text from me should be all right. She was in lessons, so I couldn’t phone her. If I texted she could read the message at break time, although I’d rather have told her in person. Undecided what to do for the best I telephoned the clinic first to make the follow-up appointment. I explained who I was and that I‘d received a text message for Zeena, and needed to make an appointment.

  ‘I can’t discuss a patient with you,’ the woman said. ‘She will need to phone herself.’

  ‘She’s at school,’ I said. ‘I don’t want to discuss her, just to make the appointment. I came with her to the clinic before.’ I understood the need for confidentially.

  ‘Just a minute,’ she said. There was silence and then she came back on the line. ‘Can she come at two o’clock tomorrow?’

  ‘She could,’ I said. ‘But is there a later appointment so she doesn’t miss school?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. That’s the only one tomorrow.’

  ‘I’ll take it then. Thank you.’

  I said goodbye and hung up, relieved an appointment had been made so quickly. I now decided I’d text Zeena and adopt the same practical approach as t
he clinic. All test results clear except 4 chlamydia. Don’t worry. I phoned the clinic. U have an appt at 2 p.m. 2mrrow. We’ll tell the school u have a dental appt. C u later. Cathy xx.

  I pressed send and two minutes later Zeena texted back: Thank u. Will u come with me?

  I texted back: Yes. If u want me to x.

  I do. Thanks x.

  Before I did anything else I went on the internet and researched chlamydia. I learned a lot, some of it quite disturbing. Chlamydia is one of the most common STIs, with fifteen- to twenty-four-year-olds being the group most likely to become infected. Studies of those who were sexually active in this age group showed that 30 per cent had contracted chlamydia at some point. Nearly half of all sexually active adults would contract an STI at some point in their lives. Most people with chlamydia don’t notice any symptoms, although some have pain on urinating, discharge and, in women, bleeding between periods or after sex. Testing is done free and is confidential at a sexual health clinic, which I knew, but chlamydia test kits are also available to buy from chemists, so it can be done at home. I read that chlamydia is easily treated with antibiotics, but if left untreated it can spread to other parts of the body and lead to serious long-term health problems, such as pelvic inflammatory disease and infertility. Just as well Zeena had been tested and it had been caught in time, I thought.