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 computer I perched on the edge of the swivel chair. My eyes drifted back to the stairs as my hand hovered over the mouse. Zadie deserved for her privacy to be respected, I told myself, but then again something had upset her and I needed to find out what it was. It was unlikely that Zadie herself would open up and tell me why. Stupidly, I had forgotten to give her an internet safety lecture before allowing her online. If something untoward happened, it would be my responsibility. With my mind made up, somehow I managed to shut my ears to her gasps long enough run the cursor over the screen.
My breathing became raspy as I checked the recent history. Leaning over the desk as Zadie had done a few minutes earlier, I selected the web address at the top of the page. At first I was faced with a blank white page but then colours began to appear. I squinted as an image flickered to life in front of me. I gasped and jerked back, dropping the mouse as if it was on fire. The colour drained from my face and my breath lodged in my throat. My chest throbbed with the pressure, as if I’d been held under water.
An unexpected knock at the door brought a rush of heat to sear my cheeks but I sat unmoving, unable to tear my eyes from the moving images in front of me. The sound of a key in the latch brought me to my senses and I sprang into action, fumbling with the mouse to click on the X. My fingers were so timorous that it took several attempts before the screen cleared, the doorbell growing ever more insistent.
Jogging to the hall, I felt grateful for my usual habit of locking the door whenever I’m home, if I have a child in placement. I had grown more security conscious after a parent had forced his way into my home a couple of years earlier. I had driven to a contact centre to collect his children after a contact session with their birth mother. The father had lain in wait in the contact centre car park and then followed me home. He was more desperate than angry but trying to convince him to leave the house had been a nerve-racking experience and one I wouldn’t want to repeat.
My hands were shaking as I reached for my keys. My eyes strayed to the top of the stairs and a feather of anxiety brushed at my throat. I trawled my brain, trying to work out why a girl like Zadie would be drawn to looking up something so awful. It was a struggle to reconcile what I had seen on the screen with the introverted, withdrawn teenager having an anxiety attack in my bathroom. In my mind, she became even more of an enigma.
On the doorstep stood Jamie, his cheeks flushed, school tie askew over his shoulder. ‘I forgot my locker key,’ he said, groaning. ‘Now I’m gonna be late.’
‘Oh, Jamie,’ I said, shaking my head. ‘Don’t worry. Grab your key and I’ll give you a lift.’
‘Ah, thanks, Mum,’ he said with relief, all trace of adolescent bravado gone. He planted a rare kiss on my cheek and raced off to his room.
Up in the bathroom I handed Zadie a glass of water. She refused to meet my eyes but thanked me for the drink and took a few tentative sips. Perched on the edge of the bath, she looked so small and frail that I was tempted to draw her into a hug. I rested my hand on her shoulder but she instantly tensed, angling herself away from me. Overcome with a sudden feeling of déjà vu, I recalled the interactive dance played out between myself and Phoebe when she had first arrived – how she would draw me in with one hand and yet hold me away with the other. Sometimes I would catch the nine-year-old watching Emily, Jamie and me with a sad yearning, her past a barrier that held her in limbo, despite her longing to be part of a loving family. Phoebe kept her distance until the trust between us grew strong enough to overcome her fears, something that couldn’t possibly happen overnight. I was beginning to suspect that with Zadie it was also going to be a case of playing the long game.
At some point we were going to have to have a frank discussion, but with the teenager still struggling to get her breath back and Jamie waiting impatiently in the hall, now was definitely not the right time.
I drove towards Jamie’s school on autopilot, trying to assemble my thoughts in some sort of rational order. Every time I tried to figure out what had possessed Zadie to search for pornography, naked bodies punctured my concentration. Sashaying to the forefront of my mind, they taunted my already churning stomach with grinding gyrations and twisted leers.
I considered the possibility that Zadie had stumbled onto the website by mistake. But whatever the reason, exposing a child to pornography was a form of abuse, and since it had happened under my roof and while Zadie was in my care, it followed that I was responsible. I let out a sigh, guiltily admonishing myself for not installing security locks before allowing Zadie to use the computer. I had tried parental controls before but quickly grown frustrated with them. The problem was that even tame sites seemed to be blocked by family-user settings, ones that Emily and Jamie found useful for homework, so I always ended up giving up on them.
My mind was so caught up in what had happened that I almost drove straight past Jamie’s school. Fortunately we got there with a minute or two to spare. After dropping him at the gates I suggested to Zadie that we should take our walk then, rather than going out later in the day. The sky was already clouding over and I wasn’t sure how long the dry weather would hold out. Zadie nodded in lacklustre agreement. She had seemed reluctant to leave the house, as if the walls were a protective shell she couldn’t do without. As we headed towards the woods she seemed to withdraw even further into herself.
The traffic grew lighter with the school-run chaos over, and as I approached an almost empty crossroads an idea came to me. Swinging the car into a U-turn, I drove back through a small village and on to a fellow foster carer’s house. Besides caring for three young boys, Jenny had recently taken in a rescue dog. Bobby, a Labrador, was still a puppy; just the sort of lively company I felt we needed. I knew that Jenny would probably be more than happy for us to give him some exercise.
As I’d thought, Jenny readily agreed. ‘You’re in luck, Bobby,’ she called out, bending over to pat her knees. The excited puppy skidded along the wide hallway and collided into her legs, his tail wagging furiously. ‘You do know they forecast rain, Rosie?’ she said, clipping the lead onto the dog’s collar.
‘Hmmm, it does look overcast,’ I said, leaning in conspiratorially and stroking Bobby’s velvet ears. ‘But we need a bit of a distraction …’
‘Ah, right.’ Jenny nodded. ‘Time for a catch-up, I think,’ she said, leading Bobby to the car. ‘When are you free?’
I cradled my chin with my forefinger. Zadie would obviously have to come with me, with her not being in school. I wanted to give the teenager a bit of time at home, a chance to get used to us before introducing her to lots of other strangers. ‘How about the week after next? Monday?’
‘Fine by me,’ Jenny said, guiding Bobby onto the back seat. ‘I’ll ask Rachel and Liz along as well. Hi, Zadie. Lovely to meet you.’
Zadie lifted her chin in acknowledgement, her solemn face breaking into a rare smile when Bobby rested his heavy paws on her lap and nuzzled against her.
Jenny remained on her front step as I pulled away, waving silently in my rear-view mirror. I was looking forward to getting together with some of the other carers. Working from home can be an isolating experience, and when coupled with the need to maintain confidentiality it was often a relief to meet up with Jenny, Liz and Rachel. Apart from the company, each of us was able to share any concerns or challenges we were facing openly, instead of keeping them bottled up.
At the end of Jenny’s road we pulled onto a wide, tree-lined street. We drove on, past a little park and then back through the picturesque village where rows of shops and restaurants were prettily co-ordinated with awnings in complementary shades and window boxes ablaze with jasmine and trailing lobelia. Soon we reached the main road that runs parallel to the river. The tide was high and a light wind was buffeting the blue-grey water into miniature, white-crested waves. As I crossed the steady flow of traffic, I noticed a colourful steam barge emerging from beneath an ornate bridge, the top deck dotted with passengers. ‘Do you see that, Zadie?’
She glanced sideways. ‘Oh, wow!’ she said, the unexpected