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
I smiled and nodded. ‘Shall I find a school place for Zadie while she’s here?’ I asked quickly. The social worker was still staring at Zadie and I imagined her to be the sort of person to bellow something like: Speak up, girl! No need to be bashful! Besides, it seemed a shame to me. Zadie was clearly an intelligent girl. For her to miss out on an education at such a critical age didn’t seem right at all.
I noticed a frisson of interest from Zadie. Her head turned sharply towards me, a flicker of hope stirring in her smoky eyes. Peggy’s jaw dropped as if she was shocked to the core by my question. There was a pause and then she recovered, shaking her head. ‘Oh no, Rosie, I don’t think so. Not just at the minute.’ She lowered her voice again, leaning towards me. ‘Things are a little sensitive. We have to tread carefully on this one. The father is not best pleased about her staying with a non-Muslim family as it is. Best not to rock the boat until we know where we stand.’
I prickled. If Zadie was in ‘care’, then we should be looking after her best interests, but I realised it was probably far too early to worry about it. She could be back with her parents before the end of the week, I thought. It seemed that Peggy actually had no idea why Zadie was too frightened to go home.
Peggy echoed my own thoughts, saying, ‘We need to gather more information before we make a decision.’
‘You might only be here for a few days, Zadie,’ Peggy said in another hammering tone. ‘We’ll get you back with your family soon, mmm? Would you like that?’
Zadie’s jaw tensed minutely, enough to tell me that home was the last place she wanted to be. The subtle change in the teenager’s expression seemed to drift right over Peggy’s head. ‘Good,’ she nodded, tapping the papers on her knee. ‘We’ll see what can be arranged. Meantime, do you know much about Zadie’s culture, Rosie?’
I nodded. ‘A little,’ I said, unconsciously slipping my feet back to the rim of the chair where the printout from Wikipedia was nestling. ‘Though I’m sure you won’t mind filling me in on what I need to know, will you, Zadie?’ I asked, smiling.
Again she nodded, whispering a polite, ‘Yes.’
Peggy flexed one of her stout legs and groaned, rubbing the knee. There were red welts on each ankle to match those on her forearms, where her black socks had cut into her skin. ‘I’m so swollen after sitting down all day,’ she groaned, hoicking one of her legs up with cupped hands and resting her ankle on the knee of the other one. ‘I called around all the specialist fostering agencies but every placement was filled. As you probably know, Rosie, we prefer a cultural match if at all possible, but there’s a massive shortage of Muslim fostering families at the moment,’ she said, her breathing jagged as she rubbed away at her ankle. ‘There’s been such a surge of Muslim children being taken into care but nothing like the same number of specialist carers coming forward.’
At that moment Emily and Jamie walked in from the garden, probably unable to contain their curiosity any longer. ‘Ah, here they are. Emily, Jamie, this is Zadie.’
Zadie forced a stiff smile then lowered her head, shrinking back further into the sofa.
‘Hi, Zadie,’ they chorused, Emily lifting her hand in a little wave.
‘And this is Peggy.’
Peggy’s jaw dropped again as if she was shocked by their appearance. Seconds later it was back in its usual position. Her default expression seemed to be a scowl while her brain assimilated a response giving the impression that she was furious with what she had just seen or heard. ‘These yours, are they?’ she asked. The social worker had a way of depersonalising everything, reducing everyone to inanimate objects.
‘Yes. Emily is 16 and Jamie’s just turned 13.’
‘How do you feel about having someone else about the place, taking up your mum’s time?’ Peggy asked, talking in the same loud voice she used with Zadie. Emily raised her eyebrows. Jamie glanced sideways at Zadie. I think they both felt as sorry for her as I did, although I didn’t think for a second that Peggy meant to sound callous. There was a kindness in her slightly hooded eyes that remained while the rest of her face contorted; she was probably just one of those people who spoke her mind before processing it fully, I thought. Still, it was unlikely to make Zadie feel any better about staying with us. One thing I realised, though, was that Peggy was using the same tone with my own children as she had with Zadie. It must have been her way of communicating with all youngsters. Many of the social workers I had met were awkward around children, strange considering their line of work, although there were exceptions. My supervising social worker, Des, for example, was amazing with youngsters, immediately putting them at ease. But then again he was comfortable in his own skin and I think children responded well to his natural warmth.
‘It’s cool,’ Emily said, bestowing a shy smile. ‘Want to come and see your room, Zadie?’
Peggy frowned, her lips stretching to a thin line. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she boomed after a moment, her tone once again incongruous with the look on her face. I had a feeling it was a habit that would take a bit of time to get used to. With a hand at the side of each hip she pushed down on the sofa and rocked forwards, once, twice, until she had enough momentum to heave herself up. ‘Lead the way, young lady,’ she told Emily, shooing her along with her hand. ‘Come on, Zadie. We’ll take a wander to check your room and then I’ll be off.’
Jamie flopped himself down on the sofa while Peggy bundled Emily and Zadie into the hall, her leg creaking rebelliously as she wheezed along. Emily led the way upstairs. Zadie followed in silence, her robe billowing outwards so that the hem brushed each stair as she climbed. Peggy huffed her way up next, chivvying Zadie along with impatient little noises in her throat. Each stair groaned under the weight of her heavy footfall.
In the room, Peggy pulled the duvet back from the bed and pressed her flat palm all over the mattress, a standard check that all social workers are supposed to carry out each time they visit the foster home. It was a routine put in place ever since it had come to light that some rogue foster carers had put children down to sleep on sheets of MDF, with no mattress or even padding on top.
‘Everything OK with the room, Peggy?’ I asked.
The social worker straightened and glanced around, her mouth contorted. Emily looked crestfallen. ‘It’s absolutely lovely, Rosie,’ she said after a moment, her face softening into a smile. ‘Do you like it?’ she boomed, turning to Zadie.
Zadie nodded, rewarding Emily with her own shy smile.
Leaving Zadie to settle in and unpack the few items she had in her rucksack, I went back downstairs with Peggy to go through the placement agreement. Half an hour later, as I said goodbye to the social worker, I was already of the opinion that Zadie had ran away because she was at ‘that age’ and was testing the boundaries, perhaps resenting the strict rules her parents had in place at home. Having to leave school was probably the final straw, I thought. In my head I had it all worked out.
But, as often happens when fostering, my initial assumptions couldn’t have been more wrong.
Soon after the arrival of a new placement the structure of daily life kicks in and normality replaces those first few hours of awkwardness and polite small talk – a relief, I think, for everyone. Except that in Zadie’s case, without school, the only routine to her day was the observance of five obligatory prayers.
The day after her arrival I was woken by the sound of running water. I opened my eyes to a faint orange glow from the street lamps outside my bedroom window. Blinking, I checked the time on my phone; it was just after 5 a.m. I knew it must have been Zadie using the bathroom as Emily was a hibernator, always reluctant to leave her bed in the mornings, and though Jamie still tended to get up early he was drawn by the lure of his Xbox rather than any wish to have a shower.
I yawned, threw my duvet back and pulled on my long dressing gown. It wasn’t until I had almost