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Fifth bath, still no relaxation in the limbs. It’s almost as if she’s holding her breath. Teeth do seem to part more easily, I fancy. She bites the spoon. Let go, I say, let go then you get more. I have to pull at it and wiggle it, then she lets go after a while.

Just like a dog. Reward works. Got down a fair amount of jelly.

She can have it every day if she’s good, I say. If she learns nicely to sit on the pot for me, learns nicely to look me in the eye, eats her other food nicely and takes her medicine. Learns to sit nice and upright and to walk smartly. If she’s a good girl. Only then.

Practise every day with her on pot at regular times. Hour after breakfast, hour after supper. Sit, I say. Pee. Poo. Push. I make little moaning sounds to encourage her. Pour water out of a glass into a jug for the pee. She is closed, shut as a vault. She presses her head into her lap. Then I walk out and lock the door and watch her through the slit. She hasn’t noticed it yet because she’s always looking down at the ground. She crawls off the pot as soon as I’m out, slither-crawls into the corner of the room as if she’s trying to squeeze herself into the wall. Then I relent and put on the nappy. The privates look better but they’re stretched and loose. Shudder to think what happened there. Wanted to put in my finger to feel, but she locks closed her legs. Doctor will have to look.

She has to get moving, then the poo will also get going. I tell her she mustn’t be so timid. She could run like a hare that day at Mother’s. I tap out the rhyme of the rabbit for her on the table-top.

There goes a bunny

says Sarah Honey

Shoot her with an arrow

shouts Mrs Farrow

It’s too short

says Mr Port

It’s over the hill

say Jack and Jill

Overshot the mark

says Jenny Dark

Right through the tail

says Dominee Heyl

It’s hit the spot

says Auntie Dot

Put her in the pot

says John the Scot

Add a bit of mustard

says coy Miss Custard

Now to carve a fillet

says old Doctor Willet

Tastes very good

says wicked Willy Wood

You’re a killer

says little Miss Milla.

27 December half past eleven morning

Both of us recovered fortunately. Christmas day rather quiet. Ma came but she didn’t even go to look in the back room. I put the radio in the room with Aspatat while we were eating so that she could listen to the Christmas carols. It can get hot there in the back room with the door shut like that, but I can’t really let her wander around at will.

Definite progress in the eating department. Little by little, but we’re getting there. This morning mealie-meal porridge with a little lump of butter and syrup, this afternoon mashed potatoes, meat sauce, sweet pumpkin puree. Cinnamon porridge this evening. And red jelly and custard. A bit more lively, I think. Jak’s gone to friends in town, but I can’t yet leave her here alone.

Half past seven evening

Great breakthrough! Got the bright idea just now, after reading her a bedtime story. Put three pink Star sweets in her hessian sack, left it at the foot of the bed.

I wonder what’s in here, I said. Do you still remember? They’re your own little things that you know! Do you remember Lys? Lys packed it for you to play with when you came here. Don’t you just want to have a look? Perhaps there’s something good inside that I put in there for you.

Go on, you like sweet things, don’t you? Then I went out and peeped through the spy-hole to see what she would do.

The room was in twilight. I switched off the light in the passage to see better. Dead-still she lay under the covers for a long time. Then she sat up straight, there’s a hand creeping out! First the strong one, then the little paw like a flat-iron. Then she sat up even straighter. First stared fixedly at the sack. Then her eyes moved. The first time in just this way, I could see the whites showing. Forward inclination in the body, the head rigid on the neck. My heart beat very fast. I could feel