The Child Bride (27 page)

‘How often did your father rape you? I’m sorry to ask, but I need to know.’

‘Every week,’ Zeena said, her voice cold and flat.

‘Where did the abuse take place?’ Norma asked.

‘Mainly in his car, sometimes at home.’

‘And your uncle?’ she asked.

‘He raped me too.’

‘How often?’

‘About once a month, sometimes more,’ Zeena said.

‘Where did that abuse take place?’ Norma asked.

‘At his house, to begin with. He had to wait until his wife and children were out. My father collected Tracy-Ann and me from school and took us to his house. The suitcase with the clothes would be in the boot of his car. When we got to my uncle’s house we had to go to the bathroom and change out of our school uniforms and into our working clothes, as my father called them. To begin with it was just my uncle there, but then he began inviting others. They’d have a drink and then rape us. After about three months my uncle became worried that the neighbours might suspect something was going on, so we had to go to other houses.’

‘And how long were you there for?’ Norma asked.

‘One or two hours, depending on how much they paid. My father was very particular. He would never let them have more than they paid for. He charged by the hour.’

Tara was making notes while I was struggling to stay calm and hold back my tears. Zeena was being so brave; I needed to be too. But I’ll never forget sitting beside that poor child as she told of the most horrendous abuse at the hands of her father and others. I can hear her words now as clearly as the day they were spoken.

‘Zeena,’ Norma said, ‘when I take your statement I’m going to have to ask you for specific details about what happened in those houses, but there is no need to go into that now, unless you want to.’

‘I don’t,’ she said.

Norma nodded. ‘The other houses you were taken to – were they the houses of relatives?’

‘No. Just men my father and uncle knew.’

‘What nationalities were they?’

‘All different ones.’

‘Were there drugs involved?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Do you know the addresses of these houses or even where they were?’

‘Not the addresses, but I could take you to some of them from memory. Others, I don’t know. Tracy-Ann may know.’

‘Thank you,’ Norma said, and Tara nodded encouragingly.

‘Sometimes I had to go alone if Tracy-Ann wasn’t at school,’ Zeena said. ‘She began saying she was ill and not going to school. But I always had to go. If I pretended to be sick my father would beat me. It’s all because of Hasan!’ Zeena suddenly cried. ‘If he hadn’t raped me none of this would have happened. My father used me because of Hasan.’

I soothed her hand reassuringly. I could see why Zeena might think this – that Hasan’s rape had set in motion a chain of events – but clearly he wasn’t the only one to blame. Her father, her uncle and the other men who’d abused her were all to blame, and possibly her mother too. How could she be so blind as not to suspect what was going on?

‘You are a child, Zeena,’ Tara said. ‘And a victim. You needed help and support, not blaming. There is no way that Hasan’s attack can be used by your father to justify his abuse. It was never your fault. I’ll make sure you get the help you need now.’

‘Thank you,’ Zeena said quietly, and I could have wept. ‘I stood it for as long as I could,’ Zeena continued, her voice tight. ‘But in the end I thought I’d rather die than carry on in the same way. I hated myself and started to think about swallowing bleach to kill myself. I told my teacher I wanted to go into foster care. I said I was being abused but I didn’t give her any details. I thought my father might leave me alone once I was in care, but he didn’t. He kept phoning and threatening me that if I told anyone he would have me killed. He also wanted me to work. His income had stopped because Tracy-Ann was always saying she was ill. He tried to blackmail me and said he couldn’t afford to feed my brothers and sisters if I didn’t work. I was so worried. I kept going to their school to make sure they were OK. I was going to give in and do what he wanted. Even when I caught those diseases my father wanted me to work.’

There was silence. ‘So you didn’t get the STIs from your husband?’ Tara asked after a moment.

‘No, from the clients,’ Zeena said. ‘They were supposed to use a condom but not many of them did. I wasn’t surprised I caught something.’

‘And your phone and all those numbers?’ I asked, trying to make sense of it all.

‘My father gave me that phone so he could call and tell me when I had to work. Sometimes a client would phone him during the day and he’d text or phone me at school to tell me he’d be waiting to collect us and take us to the house. I had to tell Tracy-Ann. Then he got worried that if I told you what was happening and the police got involved, his phone number would come up on my phone and be traced to him. So he started using his friends’ phones to call me – he told them his phone was broken. That’s what all those numbers were.’

He’d certainly been shrewd at covering his evil tracks, I thought bitterly. I would never have guessed the true nature of those numbers.

‘My father gave that telephone number to Farhad, to keep him happy,’ Zeena added.

‘Is Farhad in this country?’ Tara asked.

‘No,’ Zeena said. ‘I let Cathy believe he was because I couldn’t tell her the truth. I’m sorry,’ she said again, turning to me.

‘It’s all right. I understand,’ I said. ‘You’re doing very well to be telling all this now.’

She gave a small sad smile and wiped her eyes again.

‘But you were married in Bangladesh?’ Tara asked.

‘Yes. Exactly as I told you. That was all true. Farhad phones occasionally when he can afford it. It’s not often. He’s poor. He still believes he’s coming here when I’m sixteen. He doesn’t know what my father and uncle have been doing to me. When you heard me on the phone, Cathy, it was my father I was speaking to.’

I nodded.

There was silence, and then Norma asked, ‘Is there anything else you can tell me, Zeena?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Zeena said. ‘I don’t want to go into all the details now. I’ll wait until I give my statement. I worry about my brothers and sisters,’ she added anxiously.

‘I shall be seeing them all tomorrow,’ Tara said. I knew there would be renewed safeguarding concerns in respect of Zeena’s siblings now, for if her father had been abusing Zeena then it was possible he was also abusing her younger brothers and sisters.

‘Will you give them my love?’ Zeena asked.

‘Yes, of course,’ Tara said.

‘I’ll arrange to take your statement as soon as possible,’ Norma said. ‘I’ve got to clear a couple of things first, but I hope it will be tomorrow. I shall also be arranging for you to stay in a safe house as soon as possible.’

‘Do I have to go?’ Zeena asked.

‘Yes,’ Norma said. ‘Until the trial, which is likely to be some months away.’

‘I’ll still be your social worker,’ Tara said.

‘Thank you,’ Zeena said quietly.

‘You’ll stay here with Cathy tonight,’ Norma clarified. ‘Then tomorrow I’ll take your statement and hopefully move you to a safe house the day after.’

‘So soon?’ I asked, shocked.

‘Yes,’ Norma said. ‘It’ll only be a matter of time before her father finds out Zeena is here. I need to get her out of the area. In the meantime I don’t want Zeena to leave this house at all.’

‘Can’t I go to school tomorrow?’ Zeena asked. ‘If Cathy takes me in the car.’

‘No,’ Norma said. ‘I’m taking his threats to your safety seriously, and he and your uncle will be out on bail again soon.’

‘We must do as Norma says,’ I said to Zeena, touching her arm reassuringly.

Zeena nodded.

‘Can I have your phone now, please?’ Norma asked her. ‘The one your father gave you.’

Zeena tucked her hand into the pocket of the jogging top she was wearing and, taking out the small collapsible mobile, passed it to Norma.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Is it password protected?’

‘No,’ Zeena said.

Norma put the mobile into her briefcase and then said, ‘We’ll go now and let you have your dinner. I’ll phone Tara as soon as I know when I can take your statement.’

‘I’ll fetch the suitcase,’ I said.

‘Thank you,’ Norma said.

Leaving Zeena in the living room I went upstairs to her room where I knelt on the floor and reached under the bed for the suitcase. I’d always known the case was there – I vacuumed around it – but I hadn’t given its contents another thought, believing they were old clothes that Zeena no longer wore. I returned downstairs with the case and went into the living room, where I placed it at Norma’s feet.

‘Thank you,’ she said. Then to Zeena, ‘Is everything in there?’

‘Yes, I haven’t opened it since I first arrived.’

Tara put away her notepad as both women prepared to leave. ‘You’ve done well, Zeena,’ Tara said. ‘I know how difficult this is for you, but we’ll make sure you’re safe and well looked after. I’ll phone when I know the arrangements for tomorrow.’

Zeena gave a small, subdued nod.

She remained on the sofa while I saw Norma and Tara to the front door.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ Tara said sombrely as they left.

‘Thank you for your time,’ Norma added professionally.

I closed the front door and returned down the hall to Zeena. Whatever could I say to her?

Sometimes there just aren’t the words to express what we are feeling. The magnitude of the horror unfolding is too great. A girl of nine raped by her cousin, abused by her father, then forced into marriage at thirteen and used as a prostitute. I was overwhelmed and struggling to hold back my tears, but I knew I had to stay strong for Zeena’s sake.

She was sitting on the sofa staring numbly across the room, her face expressionless. She looked as lost and overwhelmed as I felt. I sat beside her and slipped my arm around her waist, and she rested her head on my shoulder. We sat together in silence for some time, gazing unseeing across the room and out through the patio window to the garden beyond. I tried to find something to say that would help, but everything sounded inadequate, even banal, beside the suffering she had endured. Presently, Paula came downstairs, having heard the front door open and close as Norma and Tara had left. She looked into the living room and I smiled at her. Appreciating Zeena’s unhappiness and that we needed some time alone, she returned upstairs.

Five minutes later the front door burst open as Lucy came in like a whirlwind.

‘Hi!’ she called from the hall.

‘Hi,’ I returned.

Zeena raised her head from my shoulder. ‘I wish I could stay with you guys,’ she said.

‘So do I. But Norma is right. It isn’t safe for you here any longer. I’ll phone, and visit.’

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Will you go and see my brothers and sisters at school, and make sure they’re all right?’

‘Yes, I can, but try not to worry. Tara will be making sure they’re safe.’

‘Hi everyone!’ Lucy said, arriving in the living room. Then, seeing our sadness, ‘Whoops. Sorry. Who died?’ Sometimes an irreverent remark is just what is needed.

‘It’s OK,’ Zeena said, rallying a little. ‘I’m all right now.’

‘Good,’ Lucy said. Then to me, ‘What’s for dinner, Mum?’

‘Nothing yet,’ I said.

‘I’ll help you make it,’ Zeena offered.

‘Am I excused as I’ve just got back from work?’ Lucy asked.

I smiled. ‘Yes, love.’

Zeena came with me into the kitchen while Lucy went up to her room. We put together a quick cheese and vegetable pasta bake; I had intended to cook meat but there wasn’t time for that now. Once the bake was in the oven Zeena went upstairs, and presently I heard all the girls talking. When I called them down for dinner it was obvious that Zeena had told Lucy and Paula some of what had happened to her – that her father had been abusing her, and that she would be leaving us soon. They were shocked and saddened, but like me they reassured Zeena that they would keep in touch and text and phone.

‘We’ll miss you,’ Lucy said.

‘You’ve been like another sister to us,’ Paula added.

And for a moment I thought we were all going to cry.

That meal was very quiet and sad as Zeena’s suffering hung in the air. I think we ate because we had to, not from any real enjoyment. When my children were little I protected them as much as possible from the experiences and suffering of the children I fostered. But now they were adults I could no longer do that, and the children and young people we fostered often took comfort in sharing what they’d been through with them. Hearing stories of suffering, though, hadn’t hardened or desensitized my children in any way. And I knew that what Zeena had been through would stay with them for many weeks, months and even years, as it would for me.

If we needed any convincing that it wasn’t safe for Zeena to stay with us any longer and that she had to do as Norma said and move to a safe house, it came later that evening.

At half past eight I was in the living room with Paula and Zeena when Adrian returned home from work. He called hi from the hall and then came into the living room with a letter in his hand.

‘It’s for you,’ he said, dropping it into Zeena’s lap. ‘Someone must have pushed it through the letterbox. It hasn’t got a stamp.’

I saw the danger immediately, but it was too late to intercept the letter and stop Zeena from reading it. It wasn’t Adrian’s fault; he thought he was doing her a favour by passing her the letter and hadn’t appreciated the implications. Zeena was sitting on the sofa next to Paula and I leaned over from my chair so I could read the envelope. It was typewritten with Zeena’s name but no address.

‘Perhaps it’s from Tara or Norma,’ Zeena said innocently, slitting open the envelope.

I doubted it.

I watched her face as she read the short note and then passed it to me. Adrian had gone into the kitchen for his dinner by now, but Paula was looking at me anxiously.

Dear Zeena,

Please come home and stop telling lies about our father. He is a good, kind man who loves us. You are upsetting him and making your mother ill by your lies. You are dishonouring our family and bringing shame on us all. I hope you will take notice and come home and tell your social worker you have made a mistake.