Betrayed: The heartbreaking true story of a struggle to escape a cruel life defined by family honour. Rosie Lewis
Betrayed: The heartbreaking true story of a struggle to escape a cruel life defined by family honour
the three of us. On almost any other occasion I would have delighted in the comfortingly natural surroundings; it was a pleasantly mild day and the sun was doing its best to break through the stubborn hazy cloud, but the warmth on my face did nothing to quell my discomfort as I watched Zadie and her brother weave their way through the waist-high rows of woody shrubs.
Supervising contact is rarely a pleasant experience. Relatives usually detest being watched and it can be uncomfortable coping with the vibes of resentment and occasional open hostility. But as I trailed a few metres behind Zadie and her brother, navigating through the narrow furrows between rows of foliage, I realised that I felt more conspicuous than ever before.
There was symmetry in the siblings’ stride, their arms hanging stiffly at their sides, though Chit, at almost 18, was much taller than Zadie. They were moving so slowly that I had to keep at a snail’s pace so as not to get too close to them. Chit seemed to be doing most of the talking, his head bobbing animatedly as he twisted to look at Zadie. He put me in mind of a parent, checking to make sure that their child was paying attention. Every now and then he stopped, gesticulating with his arms as he spoke as if to underline his words. Zadie turned her head towards him once or twice, but mainly she stared at her feet. When they reached the end of the first row they turned right and kept on going, skipping several lines of plants before returning the way they came, probably trying to keep their distance from me.
Straggly stems from the plants’ woody centres cascaded over the path, their softly jagged flowers brushing against my legs and almost tripping me up. Deciding it would be daft to stalk them for the entire hour, I searched for somewhere to rest and found a bench nearby, abandoned against the wall of a derelict barn. Making myself as comfortable as I could on a seat with several slats missing, I pulled a book from my handbag and started reading. Every now and again I glanced over the top of the page to check on the pair, who remained within eyesight. Snatches of their conversation floated to me on the scented breeze but I couldn’t pick out individual words and wasn’t even sure whether they were talking in English, although Chit’s authoritarian tone was unmistakable. I had been reading for quite a while when I noticed that they had stopped halfway down one of the rows, roughly 30 feet away from me. Chit was leaning over Zadie with his hands resting on his hips, again giving the impression that he was an angry parent, dressing down a rebellious child.
Foster carers often have to make a judgement call on the spur of the moment, if relatives seem to be overstepping the mark. I usually try to keep an equal measure of trust and wariness and wanted to give Zadie and her brother space to make the most of the short time they had together, but an unnerving feeling in my stomach was bugging me to intervene. Just as I was reaching for my handbag they set off again at a gentle pace and I thought maybe it had been just an animated conversation after all. I checked my watch, telling myself I was being silly – all I had heard were the rising tones of a probably innocuous conversation that I knew nothing about.
But anyway, it was almost three o’clock. Contact had been scheduled for one hour so their time was almost up. Relieved, I made my way over to the pair. Closing the gap between us to a few feet, I called out to them. ‘Zadie, Chit. I’m afraid it’s time to head back.’
Chit turned sharply, fixing a serene half-smile on his face, but there was something frozen in his eyes, as if he was flicking back in his head, trying to figure out what he had been saying and whether he might have been overheard. Zadie said a sombre ‘OK’, and they turned in unison, heading towards the gift shop and way out.
‘Well, it was nice to meet you, Chit,’ I said when we reached the car park.
He smiled and made a noise in his throat that I, giving him the benefit of the doubt, took to mean ‘likewise’.
‘OK, well, we’ll see you soon I expect,’ I said cheerily.
‘I doubt it. Zadie will be home soon.’ He bobbed his head in the same habitual way as his sister, although with Zadie it was usually accompanied by an endearingly shy smile. Chit wasn’t in the least bit rude but there was an element of arrogance to his manner and a barb in his tone.
Chit waited in the car park, watching as we pulled away. Zadie sat in the back of the car, silent and withdrawn. I thought about what her brother had said about her returning home. There was no sign that going back to her family was something she wanted. Strolling beside him, she had seemed fragile and lost. But unless she could find the courage to tell me why, she might soon have no choice but to leave her foster placement. I worried about it all the way home; her unsettled sadness, her reluctance to trust. How could possibly it work itself out? I wondered, and just where was it all going to end?
Looking back, there were already clues to what the future held. If only I had been more alert. Instead of fretting over the small things, like rejected handshakes and clipped tones, I should have been looking for something far more sinister.
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