It is sometimes difficult to know whether it is appropriate to update a child’s social worker immediately or if you should wait until you see or hear from them again. Now was one such time. I felt I should telephone Tara straight away and update her on the test results. Zeena was only fourteen and had contracted two STIs, which heightened safeguarding concerns as she had been abused. But it felt like I’d been telephoning Tara rather a lot recently, so I hesitated. However, the decision was made for me when fifteen minutes later the landline rang and it was Tara.
‘I’ve set the date for Zeena’s review,’ she said. ‘Can you tell Zeena, please? It’s next Wednesday at four o’clock. I’ll be sending an invitation to her parents, so we’ll hold it at the council offices. Will you be able to collect Zeena from school and bring her to the offices?’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘Actually, I was going to phone you. I’ve got the test results from the sexual health clinic. They’re all negative except for chlamydia. She’ll need antibiotics, and I’ve made an appointment at the clinic for her tomorrow at two o’clock.’
There was silence before Tara said, ‘Dear me, and she’s only fourteen. That boyfriend has a lot to answer for!’
‘I agree,’ I said.
Chapter Thirteen
Consequences
As soon as Tara and I had finished speaking on the telephone I made a note of the date and time of Zeena’s review in my diary, and a reminder that I had to collect her from school at half past one the following afternoon for her appointment at the clinic. I wondered how Zeena was fairing at school. I doubted she was able to concentrate on her lessons with another visit to the clinic looming. It was certainly playing on my mind, together with the thought that her boyfriend must have slept around an awful lot to have picked up two STIs – which seemed to give credence to the possibility that he was older than Zeena had said.
I worried about Zeena the whole afternoon and texted her twice. The first time: R u OK love? X.
She texted back: Yes xx.
Then later I asked: Is everything all right?
And she texted back: ‘Yes, thnks. C u later x.
I assumed she would need a lot of reassurance and support when she came home from school, and I was ready with my words of comfort. However, when she did arrive home she appeared quite relaxed and composed. Having taken off her shoes she simply asked, ‘Did the text from the clinic say anything else?’
‘No, love, not really.’ I showed her the text message on my phone. ‘I’ve had a look online,’ I said. ‘There’s a lot of information about chlamydia. Thankfully, it’s easily treated with antibiotics, so there’s no need for you to worry.’
‘That’s good,’ she said. Then she went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water, as she did every afternoon on returning home from school.
We all cope with stress in different ways, but I thought Zeena knew me well enough by now to know that if she wanted to talk or had any questions then I would be on hand to listen and advise her as best I could. I told her that Tara had telephoned, and I gave her the details of her review. I also said that her parents were being invited, but she didn’t comment. I briefly explained what a review was and then Zeena said she was going to her bedroom to make a few phone calls. I guessed she’d be using the phone dedicated to her boyfriend; Zeena didn’t take that phone to school and only used it in the privacy of her bedroom. I thought perhaps she had reconsidered how important it was for him to be tested and was now going to tell him her test results.
Later, after dinner, Zeena spent some time talking to Lucy and Paula and then had an early night. I didn’t know if she’d told them about the new test result and the appointment at the clinic for the following day. It wasn’t mentioned and I didn’t ask. When I was alone downstairs I updated my fostering log and also wrote the letter for Zeena to take into school with her the next morning, asking if she could leave at half past one as she had an emergency dental appointment. A small lie, but I thought that most parents and carers would do similar in my position to save their child from embarrassment.
Zeena slept well that night and the following morning she didn’t seem too stressed. She ate a good breakfast and then packed her books ready for school. I gave her the note of absence and confirmed I’d be waiting outside her school at 1.30. She said that as their lunch hour was from 12.15 to 1.15, it wasn’t worth her going into the first lesson of the afternoon, so she’d leave when the klaxon sounded for the end of lunch. I saw her off at the gate as usual, returned indoors, took Adrian a cup of tea and then finished my notes for the next training session I was due to give.
Later that morning, after Adrian had left for work, I received three silent phone calls to the landline in the space of ten minutes. The phone rang, I answered, but no one spoke, although the line was open. The caller’s number was withheld so I had no idea who was trying to call me. I wondered if either my phone or the line was malfunctioning, so I called my landline from my mobile, but it was working perfectly well. When the same thing happened again half an hour later I became suspicious that the calls might have something to do with Zeena. In the past, social services had accidently disclosed my contact details to the parents of the child I was fostering whose whereabouts were supposed to be kept a secret. While I thought this was unlikely to have happened in Zeena’s case – the concerns for her safety were so great that surely everyone was being extra vigilant? – I decided that if it became a regular occurrence then I’d raise the matter with Tara – or Norma, who could arrange to have a tracer put on the line if she felt the situation merited it.
That afternoon I arrived at Zeena’s school at exactly 1.30 p.m. She was waiting just inside the main entrance and, seeing me, immediately came out.
‘Everything all right?’ I asked as she climbed into the car. I was anticipating having to reassure her now as the time of the appointment approached.
‘Yes, thanks,’ she said easily. ‘We had science all morning. I’m so pleased I didn’t have to miss that.’
‘Good,’ I said, glancing at her. ‘Any worries?’
‘No.’ So I left it at that.
Having been to the clinic before I, too, felt less apprehensive, although I’d be pleased once it was all over. Any medical problem is worrying and I felt for Zeena, even though she appeared to be coping well. I parked in the hospital car park, fed the meter, and we arrived at the clinic with five minutes to spare. Zeena gave her name to the receptionist and we sat in the waiting area. No one else was there. As an appointment system operated in the afternoon, rather than a walk-in clinic, I guessed patients arrived just ahead of their appointment time and left straight after. The receptionist’s telephone was very busy though. As we waited it rang continuously – callers wanting to make an appointment, enquiries about opening times, and others asking for test results whom the receptionist put through to one of the nurses.
A little after two o’clock a nurse came out from the door on the left of reception and, looking at Zeena, said, ‘Hello, you’re next.’
‘Come with me,’ Zeena said, grabbing my arm and showing real anxiety for the first time that afternoon.
‘Of course,’ I said.
I introduced myself to the nurse. She was a different nurse to the one we’d seen before but she was just as pleasant. We followed her into one of the consultation rooms and sat either side of the small desk. With a printed sheet before her she went through Zeena’s test results, confirming that all the results were negative apart from chlamydia. She then explained that as chlamydia was a bacterial infection it was treated with antibiotics: a week-long course, two tablets a day. She stressed that, as with all antibiotics, the course needed to be completed or the infection would reoccur. She then asked Zeena if she was allergic to any medication and Zeena said she wasn’t as far as she knew.
‘And how is your herpes now?’ the nurse asked her.
‘It’s gone,’ Zeena said.
‘Good. If it does return and you’re worried
you can come in and see us any time.’
‘Thank you,’ Zeena said quietly.
‘I see we haven’t contacted your partner yet,’ the nurse said, glancing at the paperwork. ‘Can we do that now? We can text his mobile and your name won’t be mentioned.’
‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ Zeena said.
Clearly, my supposition of the evening before that Zeena had gone to her bedroom to telephone her boyfriend about the test results had been wrong. ‘I think you should tell the nurse his mobile number,’ I said, looking at Zeena. ‘He needs treating and he could be infecting others.’
Zeena shook her head and kept her eyes down. ‘Sorry, I can’t,’ she said again.
I felt it was selfish not to tell him; not only for his sake – he needed to be treated – but also for the other girls he might be infecting.
‘Why can’t you tell the nurse?’ I asked. ‘You’re in contact with him, aren’t you?’
Zeena shrugged but didn’t deny it. She sat upright in her chair and stared at her hands in her lap. The nurse – no doubt used to patients being reluctant to divulge their partner’s details – said kindly, ‘Don’t worry, Zeena. You can let us know any time, it doesn’t have to be now.’
Zeena gave a small nod.
The nurse printed out a prescription for the antibiotics and said it wasn’t necessary for Zeena to see a doctor, unless she wanted to, which she didn’t. I thanked the nurse and we left the clinic, then went down to the hospital’s pharmacy on the lower ground floor. There was a long queue and prescriptions were being dispensed in the order that people had arrived. We handed in Zeena’s prescription and then waited for nearly half an hour before the tablets were ready.
That evening after dinner Zeena began the course of antibiotics. The tablets had to be taken regularly, morning and night, and I suggested to Zeena that she kept them in the medicine cabinet in the kitchen. Not only would they be safe there, but I could also make sure she took them all, according to the instructions.
It was Friday evening and Adrian, Paula and Lucy had arranged to go out. I wondered if Zeena felt left out – she was quite isolated, and my family always seemed to be going out – so I suggested to her that she might like to see a friend. ‘Not necessarily tonight,’ I said. ‘It’s probably a bit short notice. But another night? I could collect her and take her home in the car, or she could stay the night. We’d obviously have to check that with Norma first, but it would be nice for you.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ Zeena said. ‘But it’s difficult. My best friend wouldn’t be allowed to come. And my other friends might tell their parents where I’m living, so I won’t risk it.’
‘Why wouldn’t your best friend be allowed to come? I could take her home in the car. She’d be safe,’ I said.
‘I’ll try and explain,’ Zeena said patiently. ‘Although her parents are more Westernized than mine, they still wouldn’t trust their daughter to go into the home of a family they didn’t know. Many traditional Asian parents are the same. They don’t trust their daughters out of their sight, especially with boys. Even if a girl is seen talking to a boy they say she is being promiscuous. The message girls receive all their lives is that they can’t be trusted, so their parents keep them at home as much as possible.’
‘That doesn’t seem fair,’ I said. ‘This is the twenty-first century.’
‘I know, but it’s nearly impossible to get them to change their ways. Many of them are stuck in a different time and place. If you disagree with your parents it’s considered very disrespectful and you’re likely to be punished and not spoken to for days. It creates a horrible atmosphere in the house, so most Asian girls do as they’re told just to keep the peace. Not all families are like this, but many are.’
‘I see,’ I said thoughtfully. ‘I hadn’t realized. My Asian friends are quite liberal in their views.’
‘Lucky them,’ Zeena said, with a rueful smile. ‘Attitudes are changing gradually, but it will take many generations before we’re all the same. I’ve read books about it from the library.’
We went on to have a very interesting discussion about why some families refuse to accept the values, customs and advantages of the country they’ve made their home. Zeena was well informed and had clearly given the subject much thought.
On Saturday we all had a lie-in, then Zeena made us a cooked breakfast of egg and sweet-and-savoury pancakes, which was absolutely delicious. The four of us sat around the dining table enjoying the food and making leisurely conversation. It was a lovely way to start the day. Adrian was on the afternoon and evening shift at the supermarket and left for work at noon. Lucy went shopping with a friend and Paula took Zeena to the cinema. Although there was an age difference of four years between Zeena and Paula, Zeena was more mature than most girls her age (probably due to all the responsibility she’d had at home), so the gap didn’t seem so wide. They bought takeaway Mexican fajitas on the way home, enough for us all.
On Sunday the girls and I went to visit my parents; Adrian was working more overtime to save up for the trip abroad he was planning. It was June now and another warm sunny day, so after we’d eaten at the local carvery we returned to my parents’ house and spent the afternoon in the garden. Zeena was interested in my father’s fish pond and he proudly pointed out the different types of fish, some of which he’d bred in the pond. Then she fed the fish, sprinkling the food on the surface, and we watched them rise to feed.
Unfortunately on Monday the weather changed, and the clear blue skies we’d been enjoying vanished and were replaced by wind and rain. I put on my mac to see Zeena off at the garden gate, and she left with her jacket hood up, trying to hold an umbrella. As usual, she texted me to say she was on the bus, and then again when she arrived at school.
That afternoon, however, she didn’t arrive home on time and I immediately started to worry. I gave her ten minutes and then phoned her mobile, half expecting it to be switched off, but she answered.
‘Zeena, are you OK?’ I asked.
‘Yes. Sorry, I should have texted you. I’ve been to my brothers and sisters’ school.’
‘Oh. Where are you now?’
‘At the bus stop. I should be there in about half an hour.’
‘As long as you’re all right. Did you see your brothers and sisters?’
‘Yes, for a short while. I followed them home, like I did before. Mum was furious.’
‘Zeena, I really don’t think this is the best way to go about seeing them – upsetting your mother.’
‘Don’t worry, I’m fine,’ she said. ‘See you soon.’
Half an hour later Zeena arrived home, happy because she’d seen her little brothers and sisters, but I remained concerned. I told her again I didn’t think it was a good idea to keep going to the school and embarrassing and annoying her mother, but Zeena thought otherwise.
‘If I embarrass her enough she’ll let me see them properly,’ she said, which was the argument she’d used before.
The following day, Tuesday, she did exactly the same, but at least she texted this time to say she would be late home because she was seeing the little ones at school. When she arrived home she told me she’d taken them a packet of sweets each. Her mother had tried to confiscate them, but the little ones had made such a fuss she’d had to give in and let them keep them. Zeena smiled as she said this, but my concerns grew.
‘I really don’t think you should be upsetting your mother,’ I said again.
‘I only wanted to give them some sweets,’ Zeena said. ‘It wasn’t done to upset her. She never buys them sweets. I just wanted to treat them like I used to.’
‘I understand that,’ I said. ‘But I have a nasty feeling that upsetting your mother could have consequences.’
And it would turn out later that I was right.
Chapter Fourteen
Review
The following day Zeena’s first review was scheduled to take place at four o’clock at the council offices and I was to coll
ect her from school. Children in care have regular reviews where those closely associated with the child meet to ensure that everything that can be done is being done to help them, and that the care plan (drawn up by the social services) is appropriate. It is chaired by an independent reviewing officer (IRO), who also minutes the meeting. Very young children don’t usually attend their reviews, junior-school-aged children often attend part of their review, and at Zeena’s age the young person is usually present for all of their review so they can have a say in the planning of their future and voice any concerns they may have about their care plan.
I dressed smartly for the review and was slightly apprehensive. Zeena’s parents had been invited and I’m always a little nervous at meeting the child’s parents for the first time – most foster carers are – especially if there has been animosity surrounding the placement, as in Zeena’s case.
When I arrived at Zeena’s school, lots of parents were already parked directly outside, so I stopped further along the road and then walked back to stand close to the main entrance where Zeena should be able to see me when she came out. It was a couple of minutes before the klaxon sounded and the children began streaming out in pairs and small groups, laughing and chatting. I spotted Zeena with a friend and gave a little wave. She saw me, said a quick goodbye to her friend and came over.
‘Hi, love. Are you OK?’ I asked as we turned and walked towards the car.
‘My parents won’t be coming,’ she said straight away.
‘No? How do you know?’
‘My father left a message on my voicemail.’
‘Saying what?’
‘Just that they wouldn’t be coming, and to tell the social worker.’
‘Nothing else?’
She shook her head. I had the feeling there was something else, although I thought she wouldn’t be telling me.