The Last Devil to Die (Thursday Murder Club, #4)

by Richard Osman

The day she knew must arrive is here. She has been losing him a paragraph at a time, but the chapter is done. And the book is close to its end.

The real secret was that when they looked at each other, they each thought they had the better deal. But, however much life teaches you that nothing lasts, it is still a shock when it disappears. When the man you love with every fiber starts returning to the stars, an atom at a time.

We think time travels forward, marches on in a straight line, and so we hurry alongside it to keep up. Hurry, hurry, mustn’t fall behind. But it doesn’t, you see. Time just swirls around us. Everything is always present. The things we’ve done, the people we’ve loved, the people we’ve hurt, they’re all still here.”

“But not everything adds up, does it? In life?” Elizabeth has to agree. “Not everything adds up.” “I wanted to ask him, but whether he was or he wasn’t, I’d have felt ridiculous. Do you have friends?” “I do,” says Elizabeth. “I didn’t use to, but now I do.” “Good ones?” asks Stephen. “Good in a crisis?” “I would say so.” “Is this a crisis? Would you say?” “Hmm,” says Elizabeth. “Life is a crisis, isn’t it?”

You understand that these people are still alive? Everyone who dies is alive. We call people ‘dead’ because we need a word for it, but ‘dead’ just means that time has stopped moving forward for that person? You understand? No one dies, not really.”

“I don’t know why we’re on this earth,” says Stephen. “Truly I don’t. But if I wanted to find the answer, I would begin with how much I love you. The answer will be in there somewhere, I’m sure. I’m sure.

Life continues, whatever you do. It’s a bulldozer like that.

Waiting for the last devil to die? What a joke. New devils will always spring up, like daffodils in springtime.

None of us matters, Garth. We pretend that we do, we pretend that we have a purpose, but this planet existed without us for millions of years, and it will exist for millions of years more without us. Every breath we take is a dying breath.

The daffodils are out very early this year. I’ve seen the daffodils bloom for nearly eighty years now, and they are still a miracle to me. To still be here, to see the flowers that so many other people won’t see. Every year, poking their heads up to see who’s still around to enjoy the show. Though they are out very early this year, which I know is probably global warming, and everyone will end up dying. You can still appreciate a flower though, can’t you? Gives you hope, despite the apocalypse.