He wore this red T-shirt to his first football game. He was four. His blue eyes held an ocean full of expectation and excitement. His button nose wrinkled every time he won a goal. His blonde hair swished in the wind as his little legs carried him around the pitch. I folded it and put it in the M&S bag.

This yellow T-shirt with a dinosaur on it was his favourite. It saw mud stains, juice stains, paint stains, spag bol stains, vomit stains. He looked like a ball of sunshine in it. Whenever he wore it, his squishy face brightened. It took months for him to get used to riding a bike without stabilisers. One afternoon, he fell and grazed his knee. He had hidden under his duvet, and I got under there, clutching this T-shirt. I said, ‘Darling, don’t give up. Put this on’, and he flung the duvet off and got back up again. I folded it and put it in the M&S bag.

I bought this navy jumper for his first day in Year 2. The cuffs on the sleeves would always be wrapped around his hands, snotty, muddy, damp. I hugged him at the beginning and end of every school day in it. Amid the washes. We snuggled together on the sofa when he got home from feeling poorly. The cotton was soft, and he often pulled the rounded neck over his mouth so it had stretched. I folded it and put it in the M&S bag.

A laugh escaped me as I lifted out the Disney Buzz Lightyear top I bought for his birthday. The face he pulled when he ripped open the wrapping paper. Those lips pressed together, glued tight to keep his unpolite words at bay, his eyes glancing at me and his dad. But when his sisters and brother started sniggering and their squabbling kicked off, that was it. ‘I’m just a bit too old for Buzz now,’ he explained later, his kind heart still working to keep my feelings from being hurt. I folded it and put it in the M&S bag.

My fingers fell gently on the meadow green checked shirt in the basket. The first time he wore a shirt of his own accord to look nice for his baby brother’s arrival. I could barely keep my eyes open as we walked through the front door, having only given birth the night before and coming home to four children, but when I saw him standing there, I thought, when did my little boy turn into a young man? I breathed in his scent, but the washing powder had stolen it. I folded it and put it in the M&S bag.

‘I’m ready when you are,’ Matt said softly, peering round the door with a smile we both knew was tough to put on. ‘We’re just taking a few bags at a time. We don’t have to do this all in one go.’

 I nodded.

There was still a pile of memories in the basket. I couldn’t keep them all.

‘Rach,’ Matt’s warm hand pressed against my beating heart, ‘you don’t need these to remember him. You have it all in here. You always will.’

I handed him the basket and clutched the M&S bag tightly. ‘I want to keep these.’

Matt mirrored his expressions perfectly. His affectionate baby blue eyes, dimply smile, protruding ears. He wanted to be a policeman like his dad, and he would have made a brilliant one. I nearly crumbled in a heap right then and there, but the sound of laughter from his sisters and brother downstairs kept me standing. Matt and I shared a moment of silent relief, grateful that the loss of their brother wasn’t also the loss of their joy. If they could laugh again, perhaps one day, we could too.

‘I’ll take these to the charity shop,’ Matt murmured, gazing down at the Thomas the Tank Engine pyjamas.

I reached for them, transferring them into the M&S bag. ‘We should keep these too.’

His eyes welled. ‘Yeah. Thanks. Okay. I’ll…’ he trailed off, turning to leave.            

I dropped the M&S bag, caught up to him, and tied my arms around his waist. ‘I love you, Matty,’ I whispered.

He stood resolute, trying his best to be the pillar of strength for our family. ‘I love you too, Ray,’ he replied.