by Cathy Glass
‘What’s happened?’ I asked. ‘Where are you? I’ll call the police.’
‘No. Don’t do that,’ she pleaded. ‘I’m all right now, they’ve gone. But I don’t want to wait at the bus stop in case they come back. Please come and get me, I’m sorry.’
‘All right, calm down. Where are you?’
‘I’m walking towards Simson Avenue. I’ll wait in a shop doorway where there are people.’
‘I think I should call the police,’ I said.
‘No, don’t, please,’ she begged, desperate. ‘Don’t. It’ll make it worse. Just come and get me, please. Please do as I say, Cathy.’
‘All right. I’ll be about ten minutes. But dial 999 for the police if they come back.’
‘I will,’ she promised.
I grabbed my keys and headed out the door. Rightly or wrongly I was doing what Zeena had asked, and I focused solely on getting to her as quickly as possible. I knew Simson Avenue; it was close to where her parents lived and where her siblings went to school. It was a long road with houses, offices and a parade of shops and a community centre about halfway down. It was reasonably busy, so Zeena should be safe there until I arrived.
All manner of thoughts flashed through my mind as I navigated the traffic. As a foster carer I’d had to collect distraught teenagers before, usually in the evening when they were drunk, lost or had had an argument with their boyfriend. If it was very late at night, as a single female carer I had no hesitation in phoning the police, whom I’d always found to be very helpful in returning teenagers, often giving them a good talking to in the police car on the way home. But this was different; it was the middle of the afternoon and Zeena was in a public place. Also, I believed Zeena when she’d said that dialling 999 for the police could make her situation worse.
As I pulled into the top of Simson Avenue I felt my heart start to race and my senses go on full alert. I drove more slowly, scanning the pavements for any sign of Zeena, but it wasn’t until I came to the parade of shops that I saw her standing outside the small supermarket. I pulled over and tooted the horn. She saw me and ran across the pavement as I flung open the passenger door. She jumped in and slammed the door shut, and I pressed the internal locking system.
‘Whatever happened?’ I asked. She looked dreadful. Her eyes were wide with fear and she was trembling.
‘They said they were going to set me on fire,’ she said, breaking down and sobbing. ‘They had petrol and a lighter. I thought I was going to die.’
I stared at her, horrified. She was wringing her hands in her lap. ‘Who?’ A car behind me honked its horn; I was blocking the parking bay. ‘Who was it?’ I asked as I pulled away.
‘My father and uncle,’ she said, with another sob. ‘I really thought they were going to set me alight. I was so scared.’
‘You’re safe now,’ I said, glancing at her. ‘But we’re going to tell Norma as soon as we get home. What’s happened is shocking and they’ve already been warned to stay away from you and not threaten you.’
I thought she might object to telling Norma, but she didn’t. She was too scared. ‘I know, I’ll tell her,’ she said. ‘But I didn’t want you dialling 999. The ordinary police won’t know what to do. Norma understands. I trust her.’
‘Do you want to call her now?’ I asked as I drove. ‘I think she should know as soon as possible.
‘Yes,’ Zeena said. ‘I will.’
Her hands trembled as she took her mobile from her school bag, scrolled down the list of contacts and pressed for Norma’s number. It was on speakerphone, so I could hear their conversation. Norma must have seen the call was from Zeena for she answered straight away with, ‘Hello Zeena.’
‘They came for me,’ Zeena said, sobbing. ‘My father and uncle. They grabbed me and bundled me into the car. I thought they were …’
‘Where are you now?’ Norma interrupted.
‘In Cathy’s car,’ Zeena sobbed. ‘She came to fetch me.’
I was half expecting Norma to reprimand me as she had done when I’d collected Zeena from school when her father and uncle had been outside, but Norma said, ‘So you’re safe now?’
‘Yes,’ Zeena said, stifling another sob. ‘I am now. They said they’d set me on fire if I kept making trouble. I thought they were going to kill me.’
‘I need to see you and take a statement,’ Norma said. ‘I’d like to come this evening while the details are still fresh in your mind. Are you going straight home?’
‘Yes,’ Zeena said, her voice catching.
‘Tell Cathy I hope to be there before eight o’clock.’
‘I will,’ she said. Then, ending the call, she said to me, ‘You heard?’
I nodded.
She was sitting hunched forward, tensed, and with her hands gripped tightly around the phone in her lap.
‘Try not to worry,’ I said, touching her arm as I drove. ‘You’ve had a deeply upsetting experience but you’re safe now. Norma will know what to do for the best. It can’t be allowed to happen again.’
‘I know,’ she said quietly.
As I drove her breathing began to settle and her sobbing eased.
‘Where did all this happen?’ I asked, once she was calmer.
‘Around the corner from their school,’ she said. ‘I got off the bus and cut through the alleyway to get there quickly. It’s what I’ve done each time I’ve gone. They must have known and been waiting. My uncle grabbed me from behind and then dragged me off the alley and into the back of my father’s car. They locked the doors and then my uncle got out a bottle of lighter fuel and took off the top. He said if I didn’t stop causing trouble they’d set me on fire and I’d burn in hell or be scarred for life.’
‘And all because you’ve been going to see your brothers and sisters at school?’ I asked incredulously.
‘Yes, and because of other things,’ she said, her voice so quiet it was almost inaudible.
I glanced at her. ‘What other things?’
There was a long silence before Zeena said, ‘I’m sorry, Cathy, I can’t tell you.’
My heart was still thumping loudly from adrenalin as I pulled into the driveway at home. Although Zeena had stopped crying and trembling I was still struggling with the notion that a father and uncle could threaten a young girl, and in such a horrific manner – saying they would set her alight!
‘I suppose it was just a threat,’ Zeena said as I cut the engine, clearly trying to minimize what had happened.
‘A really sadistic threat,’ I said. ‘It’s illegal to threaten people, especially children. It’s shocking. They have to be punished.’ For now that the immediate danger had passed, I could see that Zeena might simply want to forget it, and not give Norma the information she needed to prosecute, as had happened before.
‘And you can’t be certain it was just a threat,’ I added as we got out of the car. ‘They had lighter fuel.
‘I know,’ she said, grimacing at the recollection. ‘But what do you think Norma will do if I make a statement?’
‘Prosecute them, I hope. But Norma will explain it all when she sees you. You said yourself that you trusted her to do the right thing.’
I opened the front door and once inside I gave her a hug to reassure her, and me. Paula was home and in her bedroom. I called up a hello and then went through to the kitchen where I poured two glasses of water. Zeena took hers upstairs and I heard her knock on Paula’s bedroom door and then go in. I switched on the radio in the kitchen to distract my thoughts and began to make dinner. We still had to eat whatever was happening. Lucy arrived home from work shortly after 5.30, closely followed by Adrian who’d worked an earlier shift. At six o’clock I called everyone to dinner. When Zeena and Paula came to the table it was clear from their conversation that Zeena had told Paula what had happened. Hearing their comments Lucy and Adrian looked at Zeena quizzically, and she then shared what had happened with them too.
‘Your father and uncle threatened to burn you?’ Adrian
said, horrified.
Zeena nodded.
‘They want locking up,’ Lucy said, meaning they should go to prison.
Hopefully they will be, I thought. I also thought it was good that Zeena was able to share this with us. It was far healthier than keeping it bottled up, and it also boded well for when Norma arrived to take Zeena’s statement. Hopefully she’d be able to continue talking about what had happened and give Norma the details she needed. Zeena also said that it wasn’t unheard of in rural Bangladesh – where her parents originated from – for a woman to be set on fire if she dishonoured her family, husband or her husband’s family.
‘It happens in Pakistan and parts of India as well,’ Zeena said. Which left the rest of us shocked.
At half past six, as we sat at the table talking, the front doorbell rang.
‘I expect that’s Norma,’ I said, and I left the table to answer it.
‘How is she?’ Norma asked as she came in.
‘Calmer now,’ I said. ‘And talking about what happened.’
‘Good. Hopefully she can talk to me then. Are we in the living room?’
‘Yes. Straight through.’
Having heard Norma’s voice Zeena came into the hall.
‘How are you?’ Norma asked her.
‘OK now,’ Zeena said quietly.
‘Let’s get that statement written, then.’ Turning to me, she said, ‘Can you be present, please?’
‘Yes, of course.’
I called through to Adrian, Lucy and Paula that I’d be in the living room, and went in with Norma and Zeena, and closed the door. Norma was carrying a bag-style briefcase and set it down beside her chair. She then took out some blank forms and a pen. However, even before Norma asked her first question, I knew Zeena was having second thoughts.
‘What will happen if I make a statement?’ Zeena asked quietly, having sat in the chair furthest away from Norma.
‘It there’s enough evidence, I should be able to prosecute,’ Norma said.
‘Will they be put in prison?’ Zeena asked.
‘I can’t promise they’ll get a custodial sentence,’ Norma said. ‘But I can try. It will depend on the evidence, and how much of a threat the judge or magistrates consider them to be.’
Zeena looked thoughtful. ‘And before then, will they be free?’
‘Based on what I know so far I think it’s unlikely that they’ll be refused bail, so yes, they could be free until the court case – assuming I have enough evidence to take this to court.’ With her pen ready to write, Norma looked at Zeena and waited.
I looked at Zeena and waited too. She was staring down at her hands.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I can’t.’
‘But you told me you trusted Norma,’ I said. ‘And she’s come here especially to take your statement.’
Zeena had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘I do trust you,’ she said, looking at Norma. ‘But I can’t. Really. I’m too scared of what they might do.’ Her eyes immediately filled and I felt very sorry for her.
‘I could move you out of the area to a safe house,’ Norma said. ‘I made the offer before and it’s still there.’
‘They’d find me,’ Zeena said. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m sorry I’ve wasted your time.’
And so once again Norma left the house without the evidence she needed to prosecute.
Chapter Sixteen
Zeena’s Story
After Norma had left I didn’t try to persuade Zeena to change her mind and make a statement. Zeena had said she was too scared and she knew she could telephone Norma at any time if she changed her mind. I didn’t mention the matter but concentrated on making the evening as normal as possible, so that Zeena had the time and space she needed. Zeena didn’t mention it either and spent some time in her bedroom doing her homework, and then she joined me in the living room. Outwardly she appeared reasonably relaxed, although of course I’d no idea what turmoil was going on inside her.
When at 9.30 p.m. she stood and said she was going to bed, I said something that had been on my mind all evening.
‘Zeena, I’m going to take you to school tomorrow in the car, and collect you. I know you’re concerned that my car might be traced, but after what happened today it seems sensible.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, without any argument, and kissed me goodnight. Which rather showed just how much she had been frightened and intimidated by her father’s and uncle’s vicious threats and, like me, was worried that they might appear again.
I didn’t know if Norma would be visiting Zeena’s father and uncle to warn them as she had done before, but I thought it was likely. Norma seemed to be doing everything she could to help and protect Zeena. It was a pity that Zeena was too scared to help Norma and give her the evidence she needed.
The following morning when I left the house with Zeena to take her to school I automatically checked the street for strangers, but it was clear. When we arrived at Zeena’s school I did the same, and then waited in the car until I saw her go into the building. I stopped off at the supermarket on the way home and then the rest of the day sped by. Once home I unpacked the groceries and then took a sandwich lunch to the computer, where I answered emails and worked on the Skills to Foster course I was involved in. I texted Zeena once in the early afternoon: R u OK? X.
She texted back: Fine, thnks. C u l8ter. Z xxx.
At 2.45 I set off to collect Zeena from school and parked a little away from the main entrance. I got out and walked to the main gate that Zeena would come out of. Other parents were waiting in cars but none resembled Zeena’s father or uncle, and there was no old blue Ford Fiesta. Zeena was one of the first to come out and she was talking to her friend. She must have told her who I was for the girl looked at me and smiled before saying goodbye to Zeena. I smiled back.
‘Was that the friend you were telling me about?’ I asked Zeena as we turned to walk to the car.
‘Yes,’ Zeena said. ‘I guess you could say she’s my best friend.’
‘That’s nice. She seems very pleasant. It’s a pity she can’t come to our house for the evening.’
‘It’s a non-starter,’ Zeena said, with a small shrug.
‘So how was your day?’ I asked as we got into the car and closed the doors.
‘OK,’ she said.
‘Any plans for the weekend?’
‘Homework,’ Zeena said. ‘I’ve got loads.’
I smiled at her. ‘You work very hard. I’m sure you’ll do well in your exams next year.’
‘I hope so. I’d like to go to university, but my family would never let me.’
‘Why not?’
‘They think it’s a waste of time to educate girls – better to teach them to cook and clean so they can marry them off.’
Zeena knew my thoughts on this – she’d said similar before – but I felt the same niggle of anger that some girls were still restricted like this, even in Britain today. However, as it was now highly unlikely that Zeena would ever be returning to live with her family, it opened up the possibility that she could fulfil her wish and continue her education at university.
Once home, Zeena poured herself a glass of water and took it up to her room to start her homework. We were the only ones in so far; Paula – usually first in – had texted to say she was going swimming with a friend. I made a cup of tea and took it into the garden. It was a lovely warm afternoon, the air still and full of the scent of summer flowers and blossom. I sat on the bench on the patio, sipped my tea and counted my blessings. I find it’s on days like this that I feel truly glad to be alive and realize how much I have to be grateful for.
Zeena’s bedroom was at the rear of the house and overlooked the garden. Her bedroom window was slightly open and through it I could hear the distance murmur of her voice. She hadn’t started her homework yet but was talking on the phone. I had no worries about Zeena doing her homework; she was a conscientious student, unlike some teenagers I’d fostered who needed constant en
couragement and rewards to achieve. Zeena already saw the reward in studying and doing well, even if her parents didn’t.
For a few minutes I could hear the hum of Zeena’s voice, but not what she was saying, then suddenly her voice rose and I heard her say clearly, ‘No! I’ve told you, I can’t. Do as you want. And don’t keep phoning me.’
It went quiet so I assumed she’d cut the call. I instinctively glanced up at her bedroom window but there was no sign of her. A few seconds later I heard her phone give a couple of rings and then it went quiet. She must have answered it, as a moment later I heard her voice again, this time much louder. ‘No. Never. If I came back you wouldn’t let me go. I’m sorry, I don’t love you. Why don’t you just get on with your life and find someone else. Please leave me alone.’ It went quiet and then I heard her crying.
It’s always difficult to know at what point to intervene in teenage relationship problems. To a certain extent they have to be left to sort out their own issues – it’s part of growing up. But on the other hand I would never leave a teenager (or anyone) alone when I knew they were crying. I set my half-drunk mug of tea on the little wrought-iron patio table and went inside. Upstairs, I knocked on Zeena’s bedroom door and her little voice replied ‘Yes?’
‘It’s Cathy. Can I come in, love?’
‘Yes.’
She was sitting on her bed with the older phone – the one dedicated to her boyfriend – in her lap. The call had finished and she had a tissue pressed to her face.
‘Is that boyfriend upsetting you again?’ I asked gently, going further into her room. ‘Perhaps we could have a chat? I know a bit about boyfriend problems, and it’s always good to talk.’
‘Oh Cathy,’ Zeena said, looking at me through tear-stained eyes. ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’
‘Ex-boyfriend, then,’ I said, going over and sitting beside her on the bed. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘Yes,’ she said, in the same small voice. ‘But he’s not my boyfriend. He’s my husband.’
When confronted with something that seems utterly impossible or incomprehensible, my first reaction is to think I’ve misheard.
