The Child Bride (25 page)

Zeena’s mother was now prodding the children’s shoulders for them to go. The contact supervisor was making notes, and Zeena looked close to tears.

‘I love you all so much,’ she said, giving them one last kiss each. ‘Don’t forget to give Arya her chocolate bar.’

‘I won’t,’ the eldest boy said. ‘She’ll like it. We don’t have treats now you’ve gone.’

Zeena watched sadly as her mother led them to the door. As they left the children turned and waved, while her mother continued looking straight ahead. It was a sad and pitiful parting, and Zeena was visibly upset – her eyes glistened with tears.

‘Would you like to sit in the staff-room for a while?’ Brenda kindly offered.

‘No, I just want to get home now,’ Zeena sniffed.

‘We’ll give them a minute and then go,’ I said.

Brenda nodded.

I stood beside Zeena as the contact supervisor packed away her notes – a copy of which would be sent to Tara – and then left. I thanked Brenda for allowing us to use the nursery and she saw us out.

Zeena was quiet in the car on the way home and looked very sad, which was hardly surprising. Contact with natural family for any child in care is fraught with emotion, as the happiness of seeing loved ones again is all too soon replaced with the pain of having to say goodbye. I left her to her thoughts for a while and then I began making positive conversation to try and cheer her up.

‘So you all had a good time, and they were pleased to see you?’

‘Yes, we had a nice time,’ Zeena said quietly. ‘We played lots of games, but I wish Arya had been there too.’

‘I know, love. It was a disappointment. I phoned Tara and told her she didn’t arrive. At least Arya has the chocolate bar from you. She’ll enjoy that.’

‘If Mum lets her have it,’ Zeena said sombrely.

‘Why doesn’t your mother give you treats?’ I asked as I drove. ‘It doesn’t hurt occasionally.’

‘She never has,’ Zeena said. ‘It’s the way she was brought up. She had a hard life and was never treated, so she doesn’t treat us. It’s not her fault, she’s just copying what her parents did.’

I thought it said a lot about Zeena that she could be so forgiving of her mother, considering the way she had treated her and still was treating her. Although of course what Zeena had said was true: we do learn our parenting skills – good and bad – from our own parents, and it takes a huge conscious effort to change and not repeat the cycle.

When we arrived home Paula was already in, having returned from the job interview.

‘How did it go?’ I asked, as soon as we stepped in.

‘OK, I think,’ she said. ‘They’re going to let me know by letter next week. There are three summer jobs vacant so I’m in with a chance.’

‘Good. Well done,’ I said.

That evening Zeena was very quiet at dinner and when we’d finished eating she went to her room. I checked on her a few times during the evening and each time she assured me she was all right. But at eleven o’clock when I went to bed, her light was still on. I knocked quietly on her door so I didn’t disturb Adrian, Lucy and Paula, who were asleep.

‘Come in,’ she called softly.

She was sitting in bed in her nightwear, with her lamp on and a book open on her lap, although I had the feeling it hadn’t been read much. She looked deep in thought.

‘It’s late,’ I said. ‘Are you all right?’

She sighed heavily and closed the book. ‘Not really, Cathy.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’ I asked, going further into her room.

She shrugged. ‘I’m not sure it will help. I have to make a decision. I’m thinking that perhaps it would be best if I went home and did what my father wants.’

I was taken aback. It was the last thing I’d expected to hear from her. ‘But you’re doing so well,’ I said, sitting on the edge of her bed. ‘And if you return, won’t you be in danger?’

‘Not if I do what my father says,’ she said. ‘My life would be the same as it was before, but at least I would be with my brothers and sisters again.’

‘Oh, love,’ I said, very worried, ‘I understand how difficult this is for you, but don’t make any hasty decisions now. It’s late and you’re tired. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don’t throw it away. You’re doing well at school, and you told me yourself you want to go to university and have a career. You surely don’t want to be married to an old man and lead a life of drudgery just to keep your father happy? What sort of life would that be?’

She frowned. ‘I really don’t know, Cathy. I can’t think straight. Perhaps that life would be better than not ever seeing my family again. I can’t live without my brothers and sisters.’ Her voice faltered and I felt her despair.

I took her hand in mine. ‘I know it’s not easy, but why not try doing what Norma suggested and ignoring Farhad’s calls. If he gets fed up he may divorce you, like Norma said. Your parents can’t blame you for that if he does, can they?’

‘Possibly not,’ she said. ‘I guess he’d find someone else to marry.’

‘Will you think about it, then?’ I said. ‘And maybe talk to Tara or Norma again? I don’t want to see you throw away your life and be unhappy. You’re too special.’

She managed a very small smile. ‘Thank you. You are kind to me.’

‘Would you like a hug?’ I asked.

She nodded, and wrapped her arms around me. I held her close as she relaxed against me. After a few moments she said quietly, ‘I miss hugs now I don’t have my brothers and sister to hug. Mum never hugs us.’

‘Well, you can always hug me,’ I said. ‘I like hugs, although I know it’s not as good as hugging your brothers and sisters.’

She gave a little laugh, and we held each other for a while longer, then I said, ‘I think you should get some sleep now, love. Problems are always helped by a good night’s sleep. We can talk again tomorrow. Will you try to go to sleep now?’

‘Yes,’ she said.

She snuggled down into the bed. I tucked the duvet lightly under her chin and then brushed a strand of hair away from her forehead, as I would for a much younger child.

‘You’re a good girl,’ I said. ‘A kind, sweet-natured child. You deserve the best, and I’ll help you all I can.’

Zeena was quiet and withdrawn for the whole of Saturday. I asked her a number of times if she wanted to talk, but she said she didn’t. Lucy and Paula noticed how quiet she was too, and their usual happiness at it being the weekend was tempered by Zeena’s sadness. The only time the girls and I were all together was for dinner, and as we finished eating Lucy suddenly suggested that the three of them – she, Paula and Zeena – went to the cinema. Zeena refused at first, but Lucy can be quite persuasive if she feels she’s helping someone, and eventually Zeena agreed – probably because it was easier than resisting any longer. I thought the outing would do her good.

The three of them went to check on the internet which films were showing, and I heard some light-hearted banter from Lucy and Paula about having to take Zeena to a children’s film. Aged fourteen, she wasn’t allowed into those films with a fifteen or eighteen age rating, as Lucy and Paula were. I heard Zeena laugh, which was pleasing. They decided on a romantic comedy with an age rating of twelve. The next showing of the film began in forty minutes, so I said I’d take them in the car as otherwise they wouldn’t make it in time. I also said I’d collect them at the end of the film, as I didn’t want them waiting at a bus stop late at night. With only fifteen minutes before we had to leave there was a sudden burst of activity as they flew upstairs to their rooms and the bathroom to change and get ready. Lucy cut the time she usually took to get ready by half, although we left the house with her still applying mascara, which continued in the car.

‘It’s dark in the cinema,’ I said. ‘No one will notice if you’re wearing mascara or not.’

‘You can’t be too sure, Mum,’ she said. ‘And a girl needs to look her best at all times.’

‘You’re pretty enough already,’ Zeena said. ‘You don’t need make-up.’

‘That’s what I tell her,’ Paula said.

Possibly it was because we’d left the house in such a rush that Zeena had forgotten to close her bedroom door as she usually did or switch off her phone. For when I returned home after taking the girls to the cinema the first noise I heard on entering the hall was the ringtone of Zeena’s husband’s phone.

I ignored it to begin with and went into the kitchen to the hastily abandoned dishes, which I stacked in the dishwasher. I made a cup of tea. It was still a bright summer’s evening, so I took it into the garden. But as I stepped outside it wasn’t birdsong or children playing in the neighbours’ gardens I heard; it was the sound of Zeena’s mobile phone coming through the open fanlight window of her bedroom. It irritated me, not because it was particularly intrusive – the noise was distant – but because it seemed to represent all that was wrong in Zeena’s life: past abuse and continued oppression.

After a minute or so I returned indoors, set my mug of tea on the kitchen table and went upstairs into Zeena’s bedroom. She’d also changed in a hurry, so her usually neat and tidy room was littered with clothes. On top of the T-shirt she’d taken off and left on the bed was the mobile phone, still persistently ringing, with the display illuminated by the incoming call. I picked it up and pressed to accept the call.

‘Yes?’ I said, or rather demanded.

It was quiet on the end of the phone and then a male voice with an accent said, ‘I think I have the wrong number.’

‘I don’t think you have,’ I said. ‘Was it Zeena you wanted to speak to?’ I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to him, but I wanted to protect Zeena as I would my own daughters – I’d intervene if any man or boy was pestering them and making them unhappy. This was no different.

There was another pause before he asked, ‘Who is that?’

‘Zeena’s foster carer,’ I said. ‘I’m very concerned …’ But before I got any further he’d cut the call.

I took the phone from my ear and looked at the caller display, resisting the temptation to call him back. There were three recent calls showing, all from the same number. The display timed out and the screen dimmed. I returned the phone to the bed. I was about to leave Zeena’s bedroom when something suddenly struck me. I picked up the phone again and pressed the control button. The screen illuminated, showing the last three calls. The mobile number wasn’t overseas but UK. Oh sh*t, I thought, he’s here in England. I wonder if Zeena knows. I scrolled up to the older calls and saw other UK mobile numbers and only one overseas. Zeena had told Norma that Farhad used different numbers but had refused to let her see her phone. Was this the reason? Did she know he was in the UK? If so, why hadn’t she told us? Had she been too scared? She needed help now more than ever. With a sinking feeling I realized his arrival was probably the reason Zeena was thinking of returning home – to do as her father wanted and be Farhad’s wife. I shuddered at the thought.

Leaving the phone on the bed I came out of Zeena’s room. Any idea I’d had about a relaxing few hours in the garden vanished. I went downstairs and into the living room. I needed to think what to do for the best. Little wonder Zeena had been quiet and withdrawn if she’d known he was here, which I now believed she did. The poor child must have been petrified: a man of fifty arriving to claim his right to his child bride. Norma and Tara obviously needed to know, but first I had to make Zeena aware that I knew. I then wondered if she’d intentionally left her phone for me to see – a cry for help – which might make it easier when I approached her.

Two hours later I waited in the car outside the cinema for the film to finish and the girls to come out. Lucy and Paula were in high spirits and very talkative as there’d been someone famous in the audience from television – an ex-
Big Brother
contestant – so they didn’t notice I was preoccupied. However, I did notice how quiet Zeena was.

‘Did you enjoy the film too?’ I asked her when there was a gap in the talking.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she said politely.

Lucy’s and Paula’s chatter continued all the way home while Zeena and I were quiet. I thought that they couldn’t have seen much of the film given the time they’d spent watching the television celebrity and what he’d had to eat and drink in the cinema.

It was nearly eleven o’clock when we arrived home and the girls poured themselves a glass of water each and then, calling goodnight, went to their bedrooms. I left the front door unlocked as Adrian wasn’t home yet, and I went up to Zeena’s room.

‘Can I come in?’ I asked, gently knocking on her door. ‘I need to talk to you.’

‘Just a minute,’ she returned. I waited, and then she called, ‘You can come in now.’

She was partly changed and had on her dressing gown. ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ I said. ‘But this is urgent. Let’s sit.’

‘What is it?’ she asked anxiously, sitting beside me on the bed.

‘Zeena, love,’ I said gently, ‘am I right in thinking Farhad is here in this country?’

She looked at me with a mixture of horror and incredulity. ‘He’s here?’ she asked, the colour draining from her face.

‘I think so. Did you know?’

‘No.’

‘Oh, I see.’ I then explained what had happened – that I’d answered her phone and had seen that all his calls apart from one were coming from UK numbers. ‘You can’t deal with this alone,’ I said. ‘You should have told me so I can help.’

I thought she might be annoyed that I’d answered her phone, or relieved that I’d found out, and possibly dissolve into tears, but she didn’t. She just sat passively beside me, staring at the floor. I assumed it was from shock, so I took her hand in mine and spoke positively.

‘It’s Sunday tomorrow,’ I said. ‘You’ll be safe here. Then on Monday I’ll telephone Tara and tell her what has happened. She and Norma will know what steps to take to protect you. You’re not married to this man in English law. But you will need to show Norma your phone and do as she asks. She’s trying to help you. This is serious now. All right, Zeena?’

She gave a small nod, clearly still overwhelmed by the sudden change in events.

‘Try not to worry,’ I reassured her. ‘Norma is very good. She’ll know what to do. But, love, please don’t consider going home to fulfil your obligation, will you?’