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It seemed like the perfect opportunity to get away from everything. A chance to spend a fortnight in an old homestead, 30 kilometres away from the nearest town. After the challenging year we’d had, it didn’t take much for Daniel to convince me that this could be just what we needed.

I’d met his cousin, Sebastian, at a few of the family events we’d attended. Daniel’s father was one of nine children, and it was difficult to keep the various relations in some sort of order in my mind. Sebastian was married to Fiona, and they lived on a holding between Carcoar and Canowindra. Daniel said that it was Fiona’s family who owned the property; it was one of a few scattered about the district.

Sebastian and Fiona were off to see one of their gifted offspring perform in a concert in a school in the US. They were terribly talented, musically speaking, and Sebastian had asked if Daniel and I would consider minding their house. I hadn’t realised that Daniel kept in regular touch with his cousin, but agreed that it was a good opportunity to get away from our usual lives.

It all happened on short notice, and I was surprised at how excited I felt as we snaked our way across the mountains, then beyond the flattened plains of Bathurst. We’d stocked up on supplies at Fiona’s suggestion, though she’d emphasised that we were to make ourselves at home and use whatever we needed on the property.

Due to the late departure from Sydney, we wouldn’t cross paths with Sebastian and Fiona, but instructions were provided on how to get to the property and where the key would be left. Daniel and I had chuckled at this, knowing such an act of trust wouldn’t work in our inner-city life.

The directions were clear, and we found the property without any trouble. A tree-lined driveway wound its way to the house, which was enclosed with a generous verandah. Wisteria clung to the perimeter, and it would look stunning in the spring.

The key was in the designated spot, and I opened up the house as Daniel started to ferry the boxes and bags onto the verandah steps. It was dark and cool inside, and I found light switches to banish the gloom. As I moved along the lengthy hallway which split the house in two, I glanced into the rooms that opened off on either side. There were bedrooms, a home office, bathroom, the large kitchen at the back, a sunroom, and a laundry. All neat and tidy, welcoming and lived in.

I filled the kettle and turned it on, then retraced my steps to help Daniel. I noted the bedroom at the front on the left; Fiona had said this was the guest bedroom. Together, we shifted the bags and boxes, and agreed there was time for a cuppa and a walk around the farm before the day faded. I’d made tea when I heard Daniel call out.

‘Hey, come and have a look at this.’

I followed the sound of his voice into the living room. It was a sizeable space with a modern wood heater fitted into an old fireplace. Daniel was looking at a cluster of photographs lined up along the mantlepiece. I joined him, curious but not surprised that the faces didn’t seem familiar.

‘I can’t see them,’ Daniel muttered.

‘Who?’

‘Sebastian or Fiona. Or their kids. Who are these people?’

I shrugged, not overly concerned. ‘Maybe these are friends, or Fiona’s family?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I’ve met some of Fiona’s family at their wedding, and at the christenings for their kids.’

‘People change,’ I murmured, not seeing what the problem was. ‘Or perhaps they just like the photos of random strangers that come with the frames.’

But Daniel wasn’t convinced. ‘There’s something not quite right. Can’t you feel it?’

This was written to a prompt at my writing group.

Photo: views of the Sidmouth Valley, NSW