Betrayed: The heartbreaking true story of a struggle to escape a cruel life defined by family honour
In the much-anticipated follow-up to Sunday Times bestseller Trapped, foster carer Rosie Lewis tells the heartbreaking true story of 13-year-old Zadie.When the young teenage girl runs away from home and is discovered hiding on the city streets by the police, it is clear that all is not as it should be.Taught to believe that Westerners should not be trusted, when Zadie is initially delivered into the experienced hands of foster carer Rosie she is polite and well-behaved, but understandably suspicious of the family around her. Through Rosie’s support and understanding, gradually Zadie begins to settle into her new surroundings, but loyalty to her relatives, and fear of bringing shame on those around her, prevents her from confessing the horrifying truth about her troubled past.When the shocking truth finally emerges, Rosie and her family can hardly believe that Zadie had managed to keep the shocking secrets to herself for so long.
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Certain details in this story, including names, places and dates, have been changed to protect the family’s privacy.
HarperElement
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First published by HarperElement 2015
FIRST EDITION
© Rosie Lewis 2015
Cover layout design © HarperCollinsPublishers 2015
Cover photograph © Kate Gaughran 2015 (posed by model)
Rosie Lewis asserts the moral right to
be identified as the author of this work
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
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Source ISBN: 9780007541805
Ebook Edition © FEBRUARY 2015 ISBN: 9780007541812
Version: 2015-01-07
Contents
Helpless: A True Short Story
Trapped: The Terrifying True Story of a Secret World of Abuse
A Small Boy’s Cry
Two More Sleeps
Moonlight shrouded a robed figure as he entered the unlit hallway, his silhouette fading with a gentle clunk as the double lock was secured behind him. Nine-year-old Zadie watched the stranger’s arrival through a narrow gap in the banisters, a chill prickling across the top of her scalp at the sight of the black leather bag clutched in his hand. The realisation of what was inside made her heart pound so hard that she imagined it might squeeze through her ribs and escape from her chest.
Shivering as she crouched on her haunches, her eyes ferreted the shadows for Nadeen. There was no sign of her sister but she could just make out her father as he crossed the hall beneath her, his sandalled feet echoing on the bare floorboards. The late-night visitor followed; a thin, upright sort of man with a thick beard and greying, straggly hair; nothing like the monster who had stalked her dreams. Sensing nervousness in the way her father moved, Zadie felt another hammering inside her chest. Ripples pulsed upwards, teasing her throat into a cough.
She clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound, hardly able to believe that the rumours she had feared since she was a little girl were about to merge with reality. Her stomach lurched, bile fizzing at the back of her throat. Tempted to run directly back to her bedroom, she straightened and was about to turn when muffled sobs from the back room rooted her feet to the floor.
‘Please, Papa. I don’t need an injection, please.’
Zadie squeezed her hands flat against her ears to try and block out her sister’s pleading. Closing her eyes, she was gripped by the sudden image of a woman drifting through the air in front of her. As always, as soon as she tried to reach out for the comfort she knew she’d find there, the grainy presence vanished, sounds of a struggle from downstairs chasing it away.
Zadie whimpered and ran back to her bedroom, slumping down onto her mattress and pulling her pillow over her head. An hour before first light she fell into a troubled sleep but was soon woken by a shuffling noise outside the door. Nadeen walked slowly into the room, tears rolling down her cheeks. As the 12-year-old rolled tentatively into the bed opposite her own, her legs bound tightly together with bandages, Zadie could see tell-tale spots of red on the back of her sister’s linen nightdress. Silently she crossed the room, reaching out to stroke Nadeen’s back.
Zadie sighed with relief as dawn approached and the male members of the household left for morning prayers.
‘Do you think she’ll be like Phoebe was when she first came?’ my son Jamie called out from his bedroom.
I couldn’t help but smile at the hesitancy in his tone as I swept from room to room, checking there were fresh towels in the bathroom and grabbing a floral duvet set from the airing cupboard. Nine-year-old Phoebe had stayed with us for almost a year before moving on to a long-term carer. The friendly, kind and bubbly girl we said goodbye to was unrecognisable from the angry whirlwind we had first met. Our house seemed so much emptier without her presence and, despite her leaving months earlier and other children staying with us meanwhile, we still missed her. But the first few weeks of Phoebe’s stay had been challenging for all of us, especially so for Jamie.
