The Child Bride by Cathy Glass

an ordeal it must be for her, but beyond reassuring her that there was nothing to worry about, and offering platitudes about having the rest of the day off school, there was little I could say.
    I entered the hospital car park, parked in one of the visitors’ bays, and then fed the meter an extortionate four pounds for a parking ticket, which I placed on the dashboard of the car. Zeena climbed out and we crossed the car park together, side by side and in silence. Apart from the worry of what lay ahead, I think we both also felt the stigma of attending a sexual health clinic, although I reassured her there was nothing to be embarrassed about. In truth, I had no idea what to expect, as I’d never visited the clinic before, although I’d once fostered a sixteen-year-old girl who’d gone for contraception advice, but she’d wanted to go alone. I was imagining a secluded entrance tucked away around the back of the hospital, which we might have trouble finding.
    ‘I hope no one sees us going in,’ Zeena said as we approached the signage board at the main entrance.
    ‘Me too,’ I said. ‘My neighbours will be wondering what I’ve been up to.’
    She managed the smallest of smiles. ‘I’m glad you’re with me,’ she said, and kissed my cheek.
    The sexual health clinic was listed with all the other wards and departments on the signage board and in the same bold lettering.
    ‘It’s in the main building,’ I said. ‘Ground floor.’
    Zeena slipped her hand into mine just as a young child would, and we went in through the main entrance. Following the signs, we continued along the corridor to the far side of the building – not to a secluded side entrance but into the new extension. Immediately in front of us were automatic glass sliding doors, and a large sign above the entrance stating ‘Sexual Health Clinic’. Zeena dropped my hand as we went in and the doors closed noiselessly behind us. A receptionist sat directly in front of us behind a low modern wooden desk. She greeted us with a welcoming smile. The waiting area was away from outside view, and three others were already there, although the clinic had only just opened.
    ‘Good morning,’ the receptionist said, with another welcoming smile as we approached the desk. ‘Do you have an appointment?’
    ‘No, I thought it was a walk-in clinic,’ I said.
    ‘Yes. We run both clinics in the mornings – drop-in and appointments – and appointments only in the afternoon. Would you like to see a doctor now?’
    ‘Yes please,’ I said.
    ‘Can I have your name, please?’
    ‘It’s Zeena,’ Zeena said.
    ‘And your surname?’
    ‘Do I have to give it?’ Zeena asked, glancing at me.
    ‘Not if you don’t want to,’ the receptionist said.
    Zeena shook her head. ‘I don’t want to. Sorry.’
    ‘No problem.’ The receptionist smiled reassuringly. ‘You’ll be seen by a nurse first and then a doctor if necessary. You’re fourth in. While you’re waiting can you fill in this form, please, and then return it to me?’
    Zeena accepted the clipboard with the form and pen attached. I thanked the receptionist and led the way to seats away from the others. The chairs were padded and comfortable and as I sat down I relaxed a little. Zeena took the pen from the clipboard and began filling in the form while I gazed around the room. It was bright and airy, with modern furniture, and the walls were dotted with posters – not only about sexual health matters, although there were some, but also about contraception, domestic violence, child abuse and other social issues. There were a couple of display stands containing leaflets, which also covered a wide range of personal health and well-being matters, with a notice saying ‘Help Yourself’. I glanced over at the others waiting: a couple and a single woman. They appeared relaxed and not at all intimidated or embarrassed by being in the clinic, and while they were young – I guessed late teens or early twenties –