old house

I was living in an old, ramshackle house—a rambling Queenslander, though I am not certain it was in Queensland. I needed to have bath in the old bathtub. The bathroom was sunken, a few steps down, and the entire floor was tiled. The bath already had water in it and I didn’t want to waste it but it was clearly cold and dirty. I let the water out, scrubbing the bath as it drained. Once empty, I could see that it still needed a good scrub. I washed it out again and cleaned the grout between the tiles around it where it nested into the walls. I filled the bath with water and bathed. Someone interrupted me and, after they left, I double-checked the lock, clicking it fast. Once bathed, I went through the maze of corridors back to my bedroom at the front. Half-naked, I danced to the music that was playing and sang along. I became aware that someone was watching me from outside the window. I walked across the room and peered through the glass into the darkness outside, my hands around my eyes as I pressed my fact against the glass, blocking the glare of the bedroom lights. Outside, standing behind the fence, was my friend K. I called out to her, delighted that she was there. I went outside and we embraced and spoke of our connection and the fact that I had felt her presence.
Next, I was in the same house at another time. Again, K was there but was outside the house. She was running up and down the hill, getting fit. I admired her determination and wanted to join her.