The Man Who Died Twice (Thursday Murder Club, #2)

by Richard Osman

I do wish something exciting would happen again. I don’t mind what. Perhaps a fire, but where no one gets hurt? Just flames and fire engines. We can all stand around watching, with flasks, and Ron can shout advice to the firefighters. Or an affair, that would be fun. Preferably mine, but I’m not greedy, so long as there’s a bit of scandal, like a big age difference, or someone suddenly needing a replacement hip. Perhaps a gay affair? We haven’t had one of those at Coopers Chase yet, and I think everyone would enjoy it. Maybe someone’s grandson could go to prison? Or a flood that doesn’t affect us? You know the sort of thing I mean.

Ibrahim has always been good at “thinking things through,” but, now, he is choosing to take the proverbial bull by the horns. He has decided to live in the moment a little more. He is choosing to learn a lesson from Ron’s chaotic freedom, from Joyce’s joyful optimism, and from the forensic wrecking ball that is Elizabeth.

as you get older you’ll realize very few things are impossible. Certainly not this.”

“It is fine to say ‘what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.’ It is admirable. But it no longer applies when you’re eighty. When you are eighty, whatever doesn’t kill you just ushers you through the next door, and the next door and the next, and all of these doors lock behind you. No bouncing back. The gravitational pull of youth disappears, and you just float up and up.”

People love to sleep, and yet they are so frightened of death. Bogdan has never understood it.

“Some people in life, Sue, are weather forecasters, whereas other people are the weather itself.”

“More women are murdering people these days,” says Joyce. “If you ignore the context, it is a real sign of progress.”

“Let it go. Remember it as a happy time. You were at the top of the mountain, and now you’re in a valley. It will happen to you a number of times.” “So what do I do now?” “You climb the next mountain, of course.” “Oh, yeah, of course,” says Donna. Simple. “And what’s up the next mountain?” “Well, we don’t know, do we? It’s your mountain. No one’s ever climbed it before.”

“You are simply a little lost, Donna. And if one is never lost in life, then clearly one has never traveled anywhere interesting.”

Elizabeth is coming to understand that perhaps, just sometimes, things are exactly what they seem. When Ron gives her a hug, or Joyce bakes her a cake, or Ibrahim laminates a document for her, they are not playing a game. They don’t need anything in return other than her happiness and her friendship. They just like her. It has taken Elizabeth a long time to accept the truth of that.

Your kindness is welcome but it is transparent. I am not leaving this village again. I have made my peace with that.” Joyce nods. “You read people very well, Joyce, don’t think I don’t spot that. I see how you do it too, coercion through kindness. But understand this. Behind me, in these files, there are people I couldn’t help, people beyond reach, problems I couldn’t fix, whichever way I twisted and turned. You like to fix things too, Joyce. You can’t bear it when something is out of place. And so you come in, and you smile, and I know your affection for me is genuine, and you ask me to drive you to the animal rescue center. How could I resist?

The secret of life is death. Everything is about death, you see.” “Well, recently, yes,” agrees Joyce. “But surely not everything? That seems a bit much?” “In essence,” says Ibrahim. “Our existence only makes sense because of it; it provides meaning to our narrative. Our direction of travel is always toward it. Our behavior is either because we fear it or because we choose to deny it. We could drive past this spot once a year, every year, and neither the horse nor ourselves would get younger. Everything is death.”