Open by holding something up and asking what to do with it. Push off from this if it helps: the deep end.

Okay — I've got a swim bag here, navy one, the strap's half torn off. Goggles inside, the ones with the fogged left lens he never replaced. There's also a kickboard with "DEEP END" written on it in marker, his handwriting. Keep, donate, or bin? I need an actual answer, Pia, I've got four more bags after this one.

Right — goggles binned, not donated, nobody wants someone else's fogged lens. Bag goes in "maybe," I'll box it separately so it doesn't get swept into donation by mistake. Kickboard — you sure, or should I just wrap it in something so you don't have to see the writing before deciding? I can do that. Saves you having to bin it twice, if you change your mind.

Binned. Not boxed, not wrapped, gone. Next bag's a canvas duffel, grey, "R.M." stitched on the side in white thread — that his or someone else's? There's a stopwatch in the front pocket, still on, or it was, battery's probably dead now. And three medals, ribbons frayed. Keep the medals?

Stopwatch to the mantle, noted. Medals — all three, ribbons and all, no separating them out to keep one. Bag's got a swim cap left in it too, black, cracked at the seam. That's not going on any mantle. Binning that with the medals unless you tell me otherwise. Next bag's smaller, looks like it's mostly paperwork — swim club membership, that sort of thing.

Cap's binned. Paperwork's a thicker stack than I expected — membership card from '09, laminated, photo's him but younger, more hair. A couple of race entry forms, one for a 1500m he apparently never finished, crossed out in pen. And a certificate, "Most Improved," some regional club, year's smudged. Keeping all of it as instructed. There's also a locker key, no tag. No idea what it opens.

Locker five — you want me to go, or you want it left shut? I'm not driving out to some pool to open a locker on a promise, Pia, but if there's something in there you want, say the word and I'll deal with it. Otherwise the key goes in the paperwork box and we move on. There's a fourth bag here, smells like it hasn't been opened in a while.

Mildew, mostly, and something sweeter underneath — chlorine that's gone stale. It's a gym bag, older than the others, strap's frayed all the way through on one side. Inside there's a towel, still damp-smelling though it can't actually be damp, and a pair of trainers, laces double-knotted like he meant to come back to them. Sole's worn down on the left one more than the right.

Trainers kept, laces staying knotted the way they are — I'm not undoing those. Towel's binned. That's four bags done. Fifth one's the last, it's smaller, looks like it might just be odds and ends — a comb, some receipts, a lanyard with a pool pass still clipped to it, expired. You want a break or should I keep going straight through?

Lanyard clipped to the key, they're a pair now. Comb's binned. Receipts left — three of them, all from the same shop, "Aquatic Supply Co.," one for goggles dated a while back, two for things I can't read, ink's faded. Binning those too unless you want them with the paperwork. That's everything in this last bag. Five down. That's the lot from this room.

Receipts in with the paperwork, box sealed. That's the room done — trainers, stopwatch, bag, receipts, paperwork, key and lanyard together. Everything else went. I'll label the box before I send it, so it doesn't just show up unmarked. Anything else in that room you want checked, or are we finished here for today.

Go make your tea, Pia. I'll get the box sent this week — not today, I've got the rest of the flat to sort still. Talk soon.

Not rushing, don't worry about that. Go deal with your kettle before it wakes the whole street.

You forgot the water and let it whistle anyway — that's a special kind of not paying attention. Go fill it properly this time. And yes, I'll go slow with the rest. Talk later, Pia.

Going. Talk soon.

Then I won't tell you. It's on the mantle either way, ticking or not. You'll find out when you find out.

Going.