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

by Richard Osman

I imagine if you could hear all the morning tears in this place it would sound like birdsong.

“I’m nearly seventy, darling, everything is a stunning feat of memory these days. Cheers!”

What good has it done him, though? Those decisions he had been too cautious to make? The loves he had been too timid to pursue? Ibrahim thinks of the many lives he has missed, somewhere along the way.

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.

What sort of psychiatrist is frightened of life? All psychiatrists, he supposes, I mean, that’s why they became psychiatrists.

Use It or Lose It. That was quite right. That is why he is here. Out in the noise, with cars speeding by, with teenagers shouting and builders swearing. He feels good. He feels less frightened. His brain feels alive. Use it or lose it.

So I’m all set up and registered as “@GreatJoy69” and am looking forward to having lots of fun.

I see that @GreatJoy69 has already had a few private messages on Instagram. That was quick! I will take a look at them when I get back. How very exciting!

Of all the things that were to happen to you in life, death was one of the very biggest.

The brain is tremendously clever, one of the reasons Ibrahim likes it so much. Your foot was your foot and would remain your foot through thick and thin. But the brain changes, in form and in function. Ibrahim has respect for podiatrists, but really, looking at feet all day?

Revenge is not a straight line, it’s a circle. It’s a grenade that goes off while you’re still in the room, and you can’t help but be caught in the blast.

It must be fun doing all the training, I suppose, and creeping around with no one knowing, but blowing a man’s head off from four feet away probably doesn’t suit everyone. It wouldn’t suit me, and it doesn’t suit Poppy. Actually, perhaps it would suit me? You never know until you try, do you? I never thought I would like dark chocolate, for example.

MI5 know who I am now, though, so that’s one for the Christmas newsletter.

“Looking at a man you love isn’t romantic, Joyce,” says Elizabeth. “It’s just the sensible thing to do. Like watching a television program you like.”

“And then, lo and behold, we turned a corner and found ourselves in the Madonna dell’Orto, and we’re up to our ears in Tintorettos and Bellinis. It was the perfect trip and, as far as Stephen was concerned, the whole weekend was one magical accident. And that’s because he is the weather, and I am the weather forecaster. He believes in fate, while I am fate.”

I am learning that it is important to stop sometimes and just have a drink and a gossip with friends, even as corpses start to pile up around you. Which they have been doing a lot recently.

I forgot to ask her what she likes for breakfast, so I will head up to the shop first thing and get everything, just in case.

Through Donna’s closed eyes, tears begin to escape. “Does it hurt?” asks Ibrahim. “Only when I breathe,” says Donna.

Donna & Ibrahim moments were my favorite.

“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.”