Authors: Cathy Glass
‘Would you like some condoms to take with you?’ the nurse concluded by asking Zeena. ‘They’re free from the clinic.’
Zeena shook her head.
‘Is that because you’ve split from your boyfriend?’ she asked her kindly.
‘No,’ Zeena said.
I saw the nurse hesitate, a little puzzled, as Zeena’s response didn’t really make sense. ‘Well, if you do need any, you can drop in any time we’re open and pick some up,’ the nurse said. She closed the leaflets and gave them to Zeena, who passed them to me to put in my handbag. ‘Depending on the test results you may need a follow-up appointment.’
‘Why?’ Zeena asked, daring to glance up.
‘If the samples show you have another infection it may need treating with antibiotics.’
I thought this was highly unlikely given her ex-boyfriend was only fourteen. Zeena didn’t comment. I thanked the nurse again and we stood and followed her out of the consulting room into the main reception area, where we said goodbye. The waiting room had filled; I guessed there were a dozen waiting now: couples, single men and women, and two young men together. Outside in the main walkway I asked Zeena if she would like to go to the hospital café for a drink and a snack, but she didn’t. ‘Can we just go home?’ she said.
‘Of course, love.’ We began towards the main entrance. ‘You know you don’t have to worry any more,’ I said as we walked. ‘The diagnosis has been confirmed and you’re getting better now.’
‘But supposing I’ve got something else?’ she asked anxiously, glancing at me. ‘Supposing those tests come back positive?’
‘I don’t think that’s likely,’ I said. ‘But if they do, you’ll be treated, and you’ll know to be more careful next time.’
She suddenly stopped and turned to me. ‘Oh Cathy!’ she cried, throwing up her arms in despair. ‘You don’t understand. It’s not up to me!’
We were by the main entrance and I drew her to one side. ‘What do you mean, it’s not up to you? It’s your decision who you sleep with and to take proper precautions.’
I looked at her. Her eyes filled. ‘If only it were that simple,’ she said, and walked on.
As we continued towards the car I asked Zeena what she had meant by her comment, but she shook her head and said she couldn’t tell me. While I drove I tried again to persuade her to tell me what was wrong and reminded her she was safe, and that Tara, Norma and I could help her, but I had no success. Each time I said anything she withdrew further into her shell, and we finished the journey in silence. I was very worried and would mention Zeena’s comment to Tara when I telephoned her.
Once home Zeena poured herself a glass of water and said she was going to her room to lie down. I made a coffee and swallowed it down with a couple of biscuits. It was 11.45 and I would make Zeena and myself some lunch after I’d spoken to Tara. I fetched my fostering folder containing my log notes from the locked drawer in the front room and took it into the living room where I sat on the sofa. Opening the folder I picked up the phone from the corner table and keyed in Tara’s number. She answered straight away.
‘Is this a good time to talk?’ I asked her.
‘Yes. I’ve been worried since you left your phone message this morning. Is Zeena all right?’
‘Not really. We had the doctor’s appointment yesterday evening, and she referred us to the sexual health clinic. We went this morning and we’ve just returned.’
‘Oh,’ Tara said, immediately understanding the implications. I then told her all that had happened, both at the doctor’s and the clinic, including the examinations, tests, diagnosis, treatment options and Zeena’s understandable upset, and her comments.
‘Zeena wouldn’t disclose her ex-boyfriend’s contact details,’ I concluded. ‘But when the nurse asked her his age, she said, “same age as me, I suppose”, as though she didn’t know. I’ve tried talking to her and reassuring her that she’s not in any trouble and that you and I will support her, but she says she can’t tell me.’
There was a small silence before Tara said, ‘I expect her ex-boyfriend was older than fourteen, possibly an adult. That’s why she’s not saying anything. If he’s an adult, then having sex with a fourteen-year-old is a criminal offence. If they’re both fourteen and it’s consensual sex – that is, they have both agreed to it – then the police aren’t likely to prosecute unless it involves abuse or exploitation.’
‘I see. So you think she’s trying to protect him? I’ve explained how important it is that he is tested.’
‘I think so,’ Tara said. ‘I’ll talk to Zeena. I need to see her as soon as possible. It’s a child-protection matter.’
‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘She’s having the rest of the day off school.’
‘I can’t come today; I’m in court later with another family. Can we make it tomorrow after school? It will give me a chance to speak to Norma.’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I’m very worried. I really don’t know what to say to Zeena to help.’
‘It’s difficult if she won’t engage,’ Tara said sympathetically. ‘But if she has been seeing a man it helps make sense of her parents’ reaction. They’re very strict, and to discover that their eldest daughter has been seeing a man behind their backs would be devastating. Do we know if he’s Asian?’
‘I don’t know. Zeena’s not saying anything about him. Why?’
‘If he’s not, it could be even worse. Some traditional Asian families, even now in this country, want their children to marry within their culture, despite their children being born here and integrating into the British culture.’
‘I see,’ I said again. ‘Zeena went home on Monday after school,’ I said, now updating Tara.
‘Yes, she was going to try to collect her clothes.’
‘She got some of her belongings, but her mother refused to let her see her brothers and sisters. She locked them all in the front bedroom. She told Zeena that if they got close to her they might get infected with her evil.’
I heard Tara gasp.
‘She gave Zeena five minutes to get her belongings and get out or she said she’d call her father,’ I said. That frightened Zeena. Her mother told her never to set foot in the house again. As you can imagine, Zeena arrived home very upset. She said her parents had disowned her, and she’d never see her brothers and sisters again. She also said she should have stayed quiet and not said anything.’
Tara was quiet again and then said, ‘I visited her parents yesterday, but they didn’t mention Zeena’s visit. I talked to them about contact, but they are refusing to let Zeena see her brothers and sisters at present. I asked if there was a photograph of them Zeena could have, but they said there wasn’t, although there were plenty in the display cabinet – though none of Zeena. When I asked her mother about this she said she’d had to remove the photographs of Zeena because she had dishonoured them.’
‘Really?’ I said, in disbelief.
‘I took an interpreter with me, although the father speaks English. Zeena’s mother spoke in Bengali and answered my questions through her husband. The interpreter said he was giving an accurate translation, although all her replies were stilted and possibly inhibited by his presence. I asked her about the clothes she’d sent for Zeena and she said that as Zeena was behaving like a tart, she could dress like one. It appeared they’d removed all trace of her from the house, and they made it clear Zeena is no longer a member of their family.’
‘Because she had a boyfriend?’ I asked, amazed.
‘Apparently so.’
‘That’s shocking,’ I said. ‘I appreciate why they think she’s too young to be in a sexual relationship, but their reaction is draconian. And to be honest, if they’d talked to her about sex and boyfriends Zeena would have been better informed and might not be in this position now. They surely can’t exclude her from the family for ever because of one mistake?’
‘Honour and pride can mean everything in a traditional Asian family,’ Tara said. ‘Girls have died as a result of dishonouring their families.’
I was stunned. ‘I have great respect for the Asian culture,’ I said. ‘And some of my good friends are Asian. I’m sure they’d be appalled by this.’
‘Attitudes vary,’ Tara said. ‘Which reminds me, the foster carer at the training you gave, Mrs Parvin –’
‘Yes?’
‘Her supervising social worker has spoken to her and told her that she must make sure she doesn’t break confidentiality to anyone, and that includes the Asian community, where she might feel conflicting loyalties. Her supervising social worker said she’d taken on board what was said. She’s an excellent carer and they don’t want to lose her. So it’s been dealt with.’
‘Good. That’s one less thing to worry about,’ I said. ‘Tara, I think you or I should have a chat with Zeena about sex and boyfriends as her parents haven’t, so she doesn’t make the same mistake again.’
‘Agreed,’ Tara said. ‘I could, although I think it would be better coming from you – at home and in a relaxed atmosphere.’
‘All right,’ I said. ‘I’ll choose my moment.’
‘Thank you. Is there anything else?’
I quickly looked down my log notes. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Norma has visited Zeena’s parents but they didn’t say much. I’ll need to update her on this. As it appears it’s the boyfriend who’s abused Zeena there won’t be the same concerns about her siblings, as he has never been near them. I think that’s all. Can I have a quick word with Zeena now, please?’
‘Yes, of course. She’s in her room. I’ll fetch her.’
I set down the handset, closed my folder and went upstairs where I knocked on Zeena’s bedroom door. ‘Tara’s on the telephone,’ I called. ‘She’d like to talk to you.’
The door slowly opened and Zeena came out. She’d obviously been crying. I went with her downstairs and into the living room, and then came out and closed the door. The conversation she had with her social worker was between the two of them, and I’d be told what I needed to know. Zeena was on the phone for less than five minutes and when she came into the kitchen to find me she said, ‘Tara said to say goodbye and she’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Thank you,’ I said. Zeena looked so sad and lost.
‘I’m going to my room,’ she said quietly.
‘Don’t sit up there by yourself if you’re upset,’ I said. ‘Come down here. I’ll make us some lunch and then we can go shopping this afternoon, if you like. Or for a walk?’
She shook her head despondently. ‘I’d rather stay in. I’ll go to my room and come down later.’
‘All right, love.’ I’d tried my best.
She was in her room for twenty minutes while I made lunch, then when it was ready I went upstairs to fetch her. I knocked on her bedroom door and she called, ‘Come in.’ She was sitting on the bed with the older phone – the ex-boyfriend’s phone – beside her. The screen hadn’t dimmed yet from the last call, so it was clear she’d phoned or texted him, presumably having reconsidered and decided to tell him what the clinic had said. I didn’t say anything. She’d tell me if she wanted me to know.
‘Lunch is ready,’ I said.
‘I’ll be down in five minutes. I need to make another phone call.’
‘All right, love.’ I came out and returned downstairs.
After ten minutes, when Zeena still hadn’t appeared, I went upstairs again and, knocking on her door, I opened it slightly and stuck my head round. She quickly cut the call and pushed the phone under her pillow. ‘Lunch is ready,’ I reminded her.
‘Sorry,’ she said. Standing, she came downstairs with me, leaving the phone in her room.
Zeena was very preoccupied, understandably, and my attempts at drawing her into conversation didn’t work. I switched on the radio for background music so we didn’t have to eat in an uncomfortable silence. Zeena did eat a little, and once we’d finished she helped me clear away the dishes and then insisted on washing up. After that she said she was going to have a salt bath – it was her second of the day – and then she’d come down. She went upstairs and I heard her run the bath. When she’d finished she went into her bedroom. She hadn’t reappeared after half an hour, so I went up to make sure she was all right. As I approached her bedroom door I could hear her talking loudly on the phone. ‘I’ve told you! I can’t,’ she said, clearly distressed. ‘I’m ill!’ There was silence, then she said, ‘No! I can’t. Just leave me alone, will you?’
I knocked on the door and went in. The mobile phone was still in her hand and she looked close to tears. ‘What’s the matter, love?’ I asked, going over. ‘Are you having problems with your boyfriend?’
She looked at me in abject despair, and I sat next to her on the bed. ‘Zeena, love, I wish you could talk to me,’ I said gently. ‘Tara and I are both very concerned about you. You’re fourteen and have had so much to deal with. We don’t blame you for what has happened, so please don’t feel guilty. We just want to help. Can we talk? Maybe about boyfriends?’
Was this a good time? The opportunity I needed to have that chat? I didn’t know, but I took a chance and continued.
‘I’ve got three grown-up children of my own, and I’ve fostered teenagers, so I know some of what you must be feeling,’ I said. ‘Also, I was a teenager once myself and I can remember the conflicting emotions I felt that made me feel very sad or very happy. I can also remember some of the difficult decisions I had to make, especially in respect of boys. Attitudes have changed since I was a teenager, but I think it is still true today that sex is much better in a loving and committed relationship. That has been my advice to Adrian, Lucy and Paula, and the teenagers I’ve fostered. However, sometimes us girls can be put in a difficult position when it comes to deciding what’s best, and we may feel pressurized into agreeing to something that we later regret, because we wanted to please the boy. I don’t know what sort of relationship you had with your boyfriend, but I think you may be trying to protect him now. Or possibly you’re worried about what his reaction will be?’
Zeena remained very quiet, her head lowered, with her fingers knitted together in her lap.
‘What I do know’, I said, ‘is that any problem is worse if you keep it to yourself. It’s at times like these we need all the support we can get. Have you confided in anyone? Maybe one of your friends at school?’
Zeena shook her head. ‘No. My friends know I’ve got problems at home, but that’s all.’