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

by Richard Osman

That twinkle in his eye was undimmed. The twinkle that gave an entirely undeserved suggestion of wisdom and charm. The twinkle that could make you walk down the aisle with a man almost ten years your junior and regret it within months. The twinkle you soon realize is actually the beam of a lighthouse, warning you off the rocks.

So he has lived on his charm ever since. There were worse lives. But he has lost touch with what charming is. He sees new generations of men, who know what to say and how to say it, and he is left with the tools of a different age. Jokes he can’t tell, passes he can’t make. And without them, what has he got?

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

“Now, penguins are better than monkeys because ‘penguin’ is a very specific term, and ‘monkey’ is very unspecific. If we say ‘monkey’ then different people see different things, maybe a mandrill, maybe a little marmoset, whereas if you say ‘penguin’ then we all picture the same thing. Words are very important—most people don’t know that—and the more specific a word is, the better it is.”

“You know that time is not coming back, don’t you? The friends, the freedom, the possibilities?” “You’re supposed to be cheering me up,” says Donna. Ibrahim nods. “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.”