A widower collects his wife's handbag from a railway lost property office and names every item inside, except the one the clerk has been hearing ring all week.
INT. RAILWAY STATION - LOST PROPERTY OFFICE - EVENING
Nadia lifts a brown leather handbag onto the counter and keeps one hand flat on top of it. Tomas stands holding a folded document he has not yet put down.
Nadia
Before I can release it, I have to ask you what is inside. It is the rule. It is not me.
Tomas
Reading glasses, red frames, tape on the left arm. A purse with a photograph of a dog who died in two thousand and nine. Mints. She never ate the mints. She just liked to have them.
Nadia
Go on.
Tomas
A pen from the dentist. A shopping list. Eggs, bin bags, and the word Tuesday, underlined twice. I do not know what Tuesday was.
Nadia
That is all correct. I still need the next of kin to sign.
Tomas unfolds the document and lays it on the counter.
Tomas
Thirty-one years. Is that next enough?
Nadia
She was on the eight fifteen.
Tomas
Every Thursday. To see her sister.
Nadia
The conductor brought the bag in himself. He said she was sitting very straight, by the window. He thought she was asleep.
Tomas
Did he say anything else?
Nadia
He said she was smiling at her phone.
Tomas
She hated that phone. I had to show her how to answer it. Twice.
Nadia turns the form around and holds out a pen.
Nadia
Sign by the cross, and it is yours.
Tomas signs and lifts the bag against his chest.
Tomas
Thank you. You did not have to tell me about the window.
From under the counter, Nadia places a small black phone beside the form.
Nadia
There is one more item. It was in a zipped pocket inside the lining.
Tomas
That is not hers. She only had the one.
The black phone lights up and starts to buzz against the counter.