Tara ran up to the sink and turned up the tap. Thrusting her hands under she rubbed her fingers together until her hands were all wet, then reached to press the plunger on the liquid soap.

Most of it got onto her other hand, held beneath the spout, so she didn’t worry about the small spurt that went into the sink. Tara rubbed her hands together again, getting soap over the whole of them, even up her wrists, then held them under the tap to rinse them.

Celia watched in amusement then, as Tara turned triumphantly to her, spoke out, “Very good, but look, your fingers aren’t clean.”

Tara looked at her dripping hands, realised she still had a smear of charcoal along the edge of one of her fingers. Her celebratory smile dropped and she let Celia walk up to her, take her hands and repeat the washing process.

This time it was done thoroughly and properly, and Tara’s fingers were clean.

Celia allowed Tara to dry her own fingers then held the bottle of spray-on hand sanitiser out towards her. Tara raised her hands with their palms facing the bottle and Celia pressed down on the top, twice, a spray reaching each hand.

Tara rubbed it into her fingers and smiled. “You too,” she said, “then we can have dinner.”

Celia smiled patiently but disagreed in her reply. “Gloves first,” she said, putting down the sanitiser and reaching for the box of nitrile gloves.

Tara sighed. “This corona silliness is frustrating. I have clean hands, I don’t need gloves too!” she complained but reached into the box and pulled out two gloves anyway. Concentrating on pulling them onto her fingers she didn’t notice what Celia had picked up after putting the box down.

“Hands out,” said Celia, her tone making it a command. Tara looked up in surprise but obeyed, wondering what her friend was planning. Moment later she exclaimed in surprise and annoyance. “Hey! What are you…? Why…? But…!”

Celia ignored the protestations and finished fastening on the thick mitten then, noting with amusement that Tara was letting her do this even as she complained, pulled one onto Tara’s other hand. Both mittens fastened at the wrist with a simple buckle, easy enough to open – if you had use of your hands, or your teeth.

“But how can I eat now?” complained Tara.

Celia responded by pushing an oversized pacifier into her mouth, thin straps letting her tie it in place, silencing the young woman stood before her.

“I’ll feed you,” she said, “and put you in a diaper so you don’t have to worry about undressing to use the toilet. Now, stand there quietly while I wash my hands.”

Tara stared wide-eyed at her friend. Their games had never gone this route before. She shivered, wondered where this one would end, but stood patiently and waited to be returned to infancy.