A large amber-coloured button sits in Dot’s palm. Her daughter brought the tin to the hospital, thinking it might contain a spare cardigan button. It contains nearly everything except that. Dot remembers a winter coat belonging to a neighbour, a child’s costume and a dress altered twice. One button has no story she can retrieve. She likes it anyway. She places it beside the others without inventing a history. Not everything in a collection has to explain itself.