‘Go ahead. I’m not in a meeting until ten o’clock. What has she said?’
I began by telling Tara about the upsetting call Zeena had taken on her mobile on Friday from Farhad, which had led to her disclosure. Tara listened in silence as I told her of Zeena’s first trip to Bangladesh when, aged nine, she’d been brutally raped by a teenage cousin. I recounted how her parents and wider family had blamed and shunned her for what had happened, and the cruel treatment she’d received from her parents on returning home, including ignoring her birthdays and the life of servitude she’d had to lead. I then described Zeena’s second trip to Bangladesh where she’d been forced to marry Farhad, Hasan’s uncle, who was nearly fifty. Sometimes I used Zeena’s words and other times, where appropriate, I paraphrased what she’d told me. When I finished there was silence on the other end of the line, and then Tara let out a heartfelt sigh.
‘My God. The poor child,’ she said. ‘Norma thought there was a lot more going on than we knew about – although I doubt even she could have guessed this. I’ve heard of underage forced marriage, but I’ve never had to deal with a case. At least now Zeena’s told us I’ll be able to get her the help and support she needs. You say her second phone is only used for the husband?’
‘Yes. It would appear so.’
‘I’ll need to see Zeena as soon as possible,’ Tara said. ‘I’d like Norma to be with me. I’ll phone her and then get back to you with a day and time. You did well, Cathy. It’s positive that she’s been able to tell you.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, although I didn’t feel very positive.
An hour later Tara telephoned, having spoken to Norma, and said they would both visit us the following day at four o’clock. I made a note in my diary and continued with the housework. I checked in the medicine cabinet that Zeena had taken the last of her antibiotics, which had been due that morning, and then I threw away the empty packet. I went upstairs with the clean laundry and while I was on the landing I heard Zeena’s phone ringing from her bedroom. It was the phone dedicated to her husband; it had a different ringtone to the one she used for everyone else and took with her to school. It crossed my mind to go into her room, find the phone and answer it, but it felt like an invasion of her privacy. In the past I’d had to search the room of a missing teenager for any clue as to where she might have gone, and another time I’d been asked by a social worker to search a teenager’s room for drugs. Zeena’s husband’s telephone calls could be considered a threat to her safety and therefore grounds for checking her phone, but I wasn’t comfortable making that decision yet, so I let the phone ring. I would ask for Tara’s and Norma’s advice about the phone when I saw them the following day. However, when I mentioned the phone to Zeena that afternoon, having collected her from school in the car, I was surprised by her reaction.
‘You didn’t look at the phone, did you?’ she asked anxiously.
‘No, love,’ I said.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I didn’t even go into your room.’
‘Good. I must have forgotten to switch it off. And you didn’t look at the numbers?’
‘No, honestly.’
I had assumed that as the purpose of the phone was now known to me she would be comfortable with me mentioning it to her, so I didn’t understand why she was so worried about me seeing the phone, but I didn’t pursue it.
When we arrived home Zeena went straight upstairs to her bedroom, I assumed to check her phone. I appreciated why she felt it was necessary to speak to Farhad and placate him, although I wasn’t sure it was the best policy.
I didn’t see much of Zeena after dinner as she had a lot of homework, but later that evening Paula came to me, concerned. ‘Mum,’ she said, ‘did you know Zeena still has to talk to her husband on the phone? I heard her just now.’
‘Yes, I know, love. I’m going to discuss it with her social worker when she visits us tomorrow. Try not to worry. I’m sure she and Norma will know what to do for the best.’ My family cared for and worried about Zeena, and Lucy and Paula especially – as girls – empathized with her suffering, even though their life experiences had been very different.
The following day, after I’d collected Zeena from school in the car, we got home with five minutes to spare before Tara and Norma arrived. I made everyone a drink and then Norma asked Zeena if she wanted me to be present while they talked. Zeena said she did, so I went with them into the living room. Paula was in her bedroom listening to her music, and Adrian and Lucy weren’t home yet.
Tara had a notepad and pen ready on her lap, and Norma began by telling Zeena that she had done very well to disclose what had happened, and that she appreciated how difficult it was for her. Zeena was sitting beside me on the sofa and she immediately teared up – I think from the sympathetic acknowledgement of her pain, and also the relief that it was finally out in the open. I touched her arm reassuringly.
‘I know you’ve already told Cathy,’ Norma said. ‘But I do need to hear it from you. Can we start with your first visit to Bangladesh? I believe that was the first time you’d met your cousin and other relatives?’
‘Yes,’ Zeena said. ‘I was nine, although it seems as though it was only yesterday. It’s still so fresh in my mind.’ In a steady and low voice, Zeena began telling Norma and Tara everything that had happened to her, starting with that fateful first trip. From time to time Norma and Tara gently interrupted Zeena to confirm or clarify a point. Tara made some notes as Zeena gradually brought her story up to date, concluding with the incident near her siblings’ school when her father and uncle grabbed her and threatened to set her on fire.
‘So when they threatened you it was about fulfilling your marriage promise and having Farhad come to this country?’ Norma asked gently.
‘Yes,’ Zeena said. ‘And that I was causing them a lot of trouble.’
‘Your marriage isn’t recognized in the English courts,’ Norma said, explaining the legal position. ‘Although I appreciate Farhad, your parents and extended family view you as married. However, you are British and were underage at the time. The youngest anyone can marry in this country is sixteen. And even if you had been of age, and you’d been married in this country, the marriage could be annulled, as it was forced. You can’t force someone to marry here.’
Norma was clearly well informed, and Zeena, Tara and I were all listening carefully to what she was telling us.
‘Also, immigration laws have been tightened,’ Norma continued. ‘Based on what you’ve told me it’s highly unlikely Farhad would be allowed residency in this country, although I appreciate the pressure you’re being put under by your family to make this happen. But try not to worry – it won’t happen, especially once the authorities are made aware that it was an under-age forced marriage. He won’t be coming here. I’d like to see his nephew, Hasan, prosecuted for rape, but realistically I doubt there is anything we can do about that. Too much time has passed – any evidence will have been lost – and his village will protect him.’
‘I know,’ Zeena said sadly. ‘No one will tell what happened to me.’
‘I can organize some counselling for you,’ Tara said kindly. ‘Rape is a brutal attack at any age, heinous when perpetrated on a child. You’ve suffered a lot, but you don’t have to cope with it alone any more.’
‘Thank you,’ Zeena said.
‘I am still concerned about your safety,’ Norma now said. ‘Although I arrested your father and uncle, they are out on bail.’
‘You arrested them?’ Zeena asked incredulously.
‘Yes, and charged them. It’s against the law to imprison someone in a car and then threaten them. Whether we have enough evidence to prosecute remains to be seen, but I’ll take a statement from you later and do my best.’
Zeena nodded, and I sincerely hoped she would go through with it this time. Norma was doing so much to help her; surely Zeena could do this?
‘For your own safety,’ Norma continued, ‘I would like to move you
out of the area and to a safe house.’
‘But I can’t,’ Zeena immediately protested, as she had before. ‘I won’t know anyone, and I’ll never see my brothers and sisters.’ Which had always been her response.
‘I understand that,’ Norma said. ‘And it may be that being arrested has given your father, uncle and extended family the shock they need to leave you alone, but I’m not convinced. Be vigilant and dial 999 if you are worried about your safety. If you change your mind about the move, let me know.’
‘I will,’ Zeena said as Tara made notes. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve set up contact with your brothers and sisters,’ Tara now said. ‘You will be seeing them this Friday for an hour after school. The contact will take place in their school. It will be less disruptive for them than going to a contact centre. Because your youngest sister, Arya, doesn’t go to school yet, I’ve arranged for your mother to bring her to the school at the end of the day, leave her there and then return at the end of contact to collect all the children. You needn’t see her if you don’t want to.’
‘And my parents have agreed to all this?’ Zeena asked, astonished.
‘Yes,’ Tara said. ‘I spoke to your father after he’d been arrested. I persuaded him it would cause his family a lot less embarrassment if you could see your siblings in their school rather than having you turn up outside it – where everyone can see – and then follow them home.’
‘That’s wonderful,’ Zeena said, finally smiling. ‘Thank you so much.’
‘It’s just for this week,’ Tara said. ‘But hopefully I’ll be able to arrange more contact in the future.’
‘Now, to the matter of the phone,’ Norma said to Zeena. ‘The one you use to talk to Farhad. I can understand why you feel you have to keep answering his calls, but I think if you ignored him he’s likely to get fed up, and then divorce you. You know that under Sharia law he can divorce you by saying “I divorce you” three times. I believe it’s called triple talaq.’
Zeena was clearly surprised that Norma knew this, as I was. ‘Yes, but a woman can’t do that,’ she said.
‘I know,’ Norma said. ‘But he can. I’d like to have a look at your phone now, please – the one he uses.’
I felt Zeena tense beside me. ‘Why do you need to see the phone?’ she asked.
‘We can learn a lot from a call log.’
‘The phone doesn’t work well,’ Zeena said evasively.
‘That doesn’t matter. I’m not going to use it,’ Norma said. ‘I’d just like to see his number and the times and dates of the calls.’
Norma waited, as did Tara and I. We were all looking at Zeena.
‘He uses different numbers,’ Zeena said, fiddling with her fingers.
‘That’s all right,’ Norma said. ‘I’ll make a note of all the numbers. But how many phones does he own?’
Zeena couldn’t meet her gaze. ‘He borrows other people’s phones,’ Zeena said. ‘I can’t show you. I don’t want them involved or inconvenienced.’
There was a small silence before Norma said, ‘All right. Let me know if you change your mind and I’ll run some checks on the phone numbers. Now, let’s get that statement taken, then you can have your dinner.’ Norma reached into her briefcase and took out a statement form and a pen. ‘This is specifically about the incident near the school when your father and uncle threatened you,’ she explained to Zeena. ‘I’ll write what you say and then read it back to you. If you’re happy with the statement, then you’ll sign and date it. All right?’
I looked at Zeena. There was only a small hesitation before she said, ‘Yes, I understand. I’m ready to make that statement.’
I could see Norma and Tara were as relieved as I was.
Chapter Twenty
I Miss Hugs
It took over an hour for Norma to write down Zeena’s statement and then read it back to her. Once she’d signed it Norma and Tara left. It was now after six-thirty; they’d been with us for two and a half hours in total and Zeena looked exhausted. Lucy had arrived home while I’d been in the living room with them, and being used to fostering meetings taking place in the house, she hadn’t interrupted but had gone to her room. She and Paula now came downstairs. Paula was holding a letter that had arrived for her that morning.
‘Guess what, Mum?’ she said, smiling. ‘I’ve got an interview for that summer job I applied for.’
‘Fantastic,’ I said. ‘Well done. When is it?’
‘This Friday at four o’clock.’
‘That’s when I’m seeing my brothers and sisters,’ Zeena said.
‘Cool,’ Lucy said.
I left the girls chatting and went to make dinner.
The week continued as planned. I took Zeena to school in the car and then collected her at the end of each day. She didn’t object; she’d been too shaken by her father’s and uncle’s threats. On Thursday I delivered the training for foster carers on life-story work for looked-after children and the feedback was positive, so I was pleased. I kept my presentation notes as this training, like many others, was offered on a regular basis to new carers, and I’d been asked to deliver it again in six months’ time.
By Thursday evening Paula was excitedly nervous about her job interview the following day, and Zeena was just plain excited about seeing her brothers and sisters again. Adrian was out, I think with his girlfriend, which was just as well, as the girls were very noisy that evening and in high spirits. Lucy, who’d attended a number of job interviews before she’d found her present work, gave Paula lots of advice on interview technique, which led Zeena to say, ‘Just be yourself, Paula, and you’ll be fine.’ I thought that was very kind, and good advice – for many situations.
On Friday afternoon when Zeena came out of school she didn’t look as excited as I thought she would be, considering she was going to see her little brothers and sisters.
‘Are you all right, love?’ I asked as she got into the car.
‘I’m worried something might go wrong,’ she said.
‘Like what?’ I asked.
‘My father might have changed his mind, or the little ones might not want to see me.’
‘Tara would have telephoned if the contact was cancelled,’ I reassured her. ‘And of course your brothers and sisters want to see you.’
Yet despite my reassurances, I appreciated that Zeena wouldn’t relax until she was with her siblings and knew it was going to be all right. This meant so much to her. She was, after all, like a mother to them, having largely brought them up.
Fifteen minutes later I parked outside the school. Most of the other children had left now. Only those staying for the after-school club remained. Before we got out of the car Zeena opened her school bag and took out four chocolate bars.
‘I’ve bought them a little treat each,’ she said.
‘That’s nice.’
We got out of the car, went up the short path to the school and I pressed the security button at the side of the main door. The entrance porch where we stood could be seen from the office and presently a member of staff looked out of the window and then released the lock on the door.
Directly inside a woman greeted us. ‘Hello, I’m Brenda, the deputy head,’ she said, with a welcoming smile.
‘Cathy,’ I said. ‘Zeena’s foster carer. Pleased to meet you.’ She knew Zeena.
‘We’re holding the contact in the nursery where there are plenty of activities,’ she said. ‘This way. The contact supervisor is already here.’
We followed her through a set of double doors and then down a corridor, into the large, colourful and well-stocked nursery. Three little faces looked up from the sandpit where they were playing. Immediately standing, they rushed over with cries of ‘Zee! Zee!’ which seemed to be their nickname for her. They fell into her outstretched arms with such force that she stumbled back, laughing. But where was the fourth child, I wondered? I glanced around the nursery, smiled at the contact supervisor, whom I recognized from the family centre,
but couldn’t see the youngest child. Perhaps she was using the bathroom.
‘Where’s Arya?’ Zeena now asked, as she hugged her two brothers and her sister.
‘Your mother hasn’t brought her yet,’ Brenda said. ‘I’ve tried phoning home but no one is answering.’
‘She won’t be coming,’ Zeena said, a little sadly.
‘There’s still time,’ Brenda said. ‘They may have been delayed.’
‘She won’t be coming,’ Zeena said again, still hugging her siblings but clearly disappointed that the youngest wasn’t there. ‘I just know it.’
‘Make the most of your time with the others,’ I said to her. ‘I’ll phone Tara from the car and let her know Arya hasn’t arrived.’
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
As I left, Zeena’s siblings took her by the arms and were excitedly leading her to the sandpit to resume their game, happy to be with her again. At least that part was going well, I thought.
I’d planned to wait in my car during the hour’s contact as it wasn’t worth me driving home and back again, and I’d brought a book to read. Once in the car I telephoned Tara’s office number, but a colleague answered and said she was out of the office on a home visit, so I left a message for her to phone me when she was free. Perhaps there was a valid reason why Zeena’s mother hadn’t brought little Arya. I hoped so, for if it was a deliberate act by her parents – to deprive Zeena of the chance to see her youngest sister – then it was cruel and hurtful.
I opened my book and tried to concentrate. I was parked near the front of the school and in sight of the main entrance. Each time anyone walked past I looked up in the vague hope it was Zeena’s mother bringing little Arya, but at 4.30 I had to admit she wasn’t coming. At 4.50, ten minutes before the end of contact, Tara returned my telephone call and I told her that Zeena’s mother hadn’t brought Arya to school.
I heard her sigh. ‘And she didn’t let the school know she wasn’t coming?’