Zoe said, ‘He’s so busy when he comes to the islands.’ She thought of how it was; he would call out to her, and grab her in a hug, and explain loudly to friends, ‘This is my daughter, Zoe, she lives here, in the archipelago. An indigenous island girl.’ She thought she should get it tattooed on her forehead: A totally indigenous island product. – Then somebody would ask him something, or want to be shown something in the house or garden, and Seb would wince an apology to his daughter, and squeeze her hand, and, until now, that was the extent of their interaction. She was used to it. And still she waited around, as the sun moved across the sky, hoping for some contact with her father. Well, she’d had enough. She wanted their relationship to evolve on a new footing. She was no longer a little girl he could ignore.

‘Let’s go and see what he has to say,’ she said.

As they walked across the lawn and into the orchard, Zoe imagined telling her father about the environment – her concerns about it – and discussing with him CWEN’s slogan, Climate Change is MAN-made, in an open and honest way. Maybe he would listen to her and, in his position of power, do something.

They pushed their way through the gate in the hedge. Beyond was the orchard, where Eva’s chickens lived, and the Victorian brick-tower folly that her father and his brothers had used as a playroom when they were younger.

‘Oh my God,’ said Tara suddenly. ‘Sssh. Stop.’

She lifted her camera phone to eye level.

Over by the far orchard wall, standing below the tower, amidst the orchard’s nettles and rotting apples, Zoe saw him. He was unmistakable, in his slick London suit, his over-the-top curly blonde hair, his extreme male handsomeness. He had his hands on that woman, Alice. He had stopped to face her. They watched as he pushed his face against hers, put his hand on her breast, and kissed her.

Who knows what might have happened thereafter had the voice of the photographer not penetrated the orchard: calling for Sebastian, bellowing for him, as he roamed towards them through the garden, ‘Minister, the light’s just right, we need you now, OK?’

Tara mimed silence to Zoe. The two of them waited, unseen, behind the thick box hedge on the edge of the orchard, as Tara saved the video file. They watched as the minister followed the photographer back to the house. Tara was thinking of all the noise this would make. However, she said nothing to anyone; she thought on her feet, continuing to improvise, by going to Alice’s aid, and inviting her to the meeting on Cwen that night.

Zoe did as she was told, thinking—

ZOE: I was thinking of that quote Mx Thompson has up in their classroom. Power and domination as key elements of typical patriarchal sexual activity. Kate Millett.