I turn the ute around, and loop back towards the house, keeping an eye out for anyone who might have seen me. But no one is around. I am keen to be out of here now. This could easily be the farm of a good person, a community stalwart, a successful farmer. The garden gate is at the far end of the fence, so I head towards it, thinking it is best to leave the boxes on his verandah.

When I am past the house, I see two foxes just outside the garden, sitting and watching me, cautious. Their ears are up, and they slowly crouch down, watching what I might do. I stop, trying to see what has brought them so close to the house. Perhaps there are fruit trees, a veggie garden, or even dog food to steal. Then I see another fox, sleek and dark-red shiny, cross the flat to join them. It looks back at me momentarily, and then trots towards the others, sniffing the ground here and there, pointedly displaying no sense of urgency. I look back to where he came from, and see behind the house a squat, rounded brick structure with a chimney almost obscured by a line of trees. I swing the ute towards it, and know that it is a kiln — a pottery kiln, if ever I have seen one. The bricks are dark-red and weathered, or maybe coloured by use. It’s a construction that has been there for some time. I want to go and inspect it, to see if it has been used recently. Perhaps it has been there for decades, and never fired up. Maybe Ben’s wife did pottery, too. But I don’t have time to be snooping around. Someone is bound to turn up at any time. And then I think if I don’t go and check it out, I will be stuck in another loop of ‘maybe’. If it hasn’t been used in years, then that line of wondering can be shut down. I look back towards the shed and down the road to the mailbox. Nobody is about, and I cannot hear a tractor or a ute.