Name: Doug Belshaw's review of The Last Devil to Die by Richard Osman
Item: The Last Devil to Die
Rating: 4
Author: Doug Belshaw

Richard Osman

Shocking news reaches the Thursday Murder Club.

An old friend in the antiques business has been killed, and a dangerous package he was protecting has gone missing.

As the gang springs into action they encounter art forgers, online fraudsters and drug dealers, as well as heartache close to home.

With the body count rising, the package still missing and trouble firmly on their tail, has their luck finally run out? And who will be the last devil to die?

Thursday Murder Club #4

The Last Devil to Die

Aistė

Six thousand years old. And people still thought they were important.

Looking about. A man with a briefcase and a sad face plays an arcade machine. A young mum with red eyes pushes a stroller back and forth, trying to kill the day. A teenaged girl can't believe what she is being told on her phone, and an old man in an overcoat hunches over a plastic table, an undrunk cup of coffee in front of him.

We are all tiny insignificant blinks in history, in a world that couldn't care a hoot if we live or die. You think whoever made this box six thousand years ago cares if we do Pilates and eat our five-a-day? We complain about life so endlessly and so bitterly, and yet we cling to it so dearly? Surely that makes no sense?

Mankind finds futility very hard to stomach. People find all sorts of things to give their brief lives meaning. Religion, football, astrology, social media. Valiant efforts all, but everyone knows, deep, deep down, that life is both a random occurrence and a losing battle. None of us will be remembered. These days will all be covered, in time, by the sands. Even the five million pounds Garth is going to pay for the box will be dust. Enjoy it while you can.

How young they all are, though many of them will feel old. How beautiful they are, though how ugly some of them will feel. Elizabeth remembers lying on the grass in quads like these, almost sixty years ago now. Though, of course, not sixty years ago, because she is still there, can still smell the grass and the cigarettes, and the rough tweed arms brushing against hers. She can taste the wine and the kisses, neither of which she had yet developed a liking for. She can hear the cries of boys looking for attention. She can breathe in the air. How young and beautiful she was, how old and ugly she felt. She feels young and beautiful now - Stephen made sure of that. Made sure she understood who she was. Whether today, or sixty years ago, Stephen was right, as he so often was: our memories are no less real than whatever moment in which we happen to be living. The big clock to the left of the quad has a job to do, of course. But it doesn't tell the whole story.

Two girls kiss to her left. To one of them, kissing is new, and this moment will live forever. Things that happen do not unhappen. Stephen's death will not unhappen. Elizabeth's childhood will not unhappen, but the wine and the kisses and the love and the helpless laughter will not unhappen either. The glances at dinner parties, that final crossword clue, the music, the sunsets, the walks, none of it will unhappen.

None of it will unhappen until everything unhappens.

And Joyce, Ron and Ibrahim? They will not be unhappening any time soon. Elizabeth knows she is utterly alone, but knows, also, that she is not. She will be existing in this state for some while, she thinks. The experienced girl props herself up on one elbow, while the inexperienced girl looks up at the sky and wonders if this is her life now.

Elizabeth lies back and looks up at the sky too. At the clouds. Stephen isn't up there, but he is somewhere, and it's as good a place as any to find him. To find his smile, and his arms, and his friendship and his bravery. Elizabeth starts to cry, and, through the tears, gives her first small smile since that awful day.

How will life go on now? How is that possible? She hears a car on a distant road. Why on earth is anybody driving? Where is there to go now? Why is the clock in the hall still ticking? Doesn't it know it stopped days ago? 

On the way to the funeral, Joyce had sat with her in the car. They didn't speak because there was too much to say. Elizabeth looked out of the window of the car at one point, and saw a mother pick up a soft toy her child had dropped out of its pram. Elizabeth almost burst into laughter, that life was daring to continue. Didn't they know? Hadn't they heard? Everything has changed, everything. And yet nothing has changed. Nothing. The day carries on as it would. An old man at a traffic light takes off his hat as the hearse passes, but, other than that, the high street is the same. How can these two realities possibly coexist?

Perhaps Stephen was right about time? Outside the car window, it moved forward, marching, marching, never missing a step. But inside the car, time was already moving backwards, already folding in.

The life she had with Stephen will always mean more to her than the life she will now have going forward. She will spend more time there, in that past, she knows that.

And, as the world races forward, she will fall further and further back. There comes a point when you look at your photograph albums more often than you watch the news. When you opt out of time, and let it carry on doing its thing while you get on with yours. You simply stop dancing to the beat of the drum.

She sees it in Joyce. For all her bustle, for all her spark, there is a part of her, the most important part, locked away. There's a part of Joyce that will always be in a tidy living room, Gerry with his feet up, and a young Joanna, face beaming as she opens presents.

Living in the past. Elizabeth had never understood it, but, with intense clarity, she understands it now. Elizabeth's past was always too dark, too unhappy. Family, school, the dangerous, compromising work, the divorces. But, as of three days ago, Stephen is her past, and that is where she will choose to live.

A day of death is a day of love. Ibrahim knows plenty about both.

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

They still have each other, but not today. There will be laughing and teasing and arguing and loving again, but not today. Not this Thursday.

As the waves of the world crash around them, this Thursday is for Stephen.

'I might shut my eyes for a moment,' says Stephen.

'You do that,' says Elizabeth. I think you've earned a rest.'

'Tell me the story of when we first met,' says Stephen.

'I once saw a handsome man,' says Elizabeth. 'And I knew I was in love. So I dropped my glove outside a bookshop, and he picked it up and presented it to me, and my life changed forever.'

'So handsome,' says Elizabeth, tears now streaming. 'Like you wouldn't believe. And, you know, my life didn't change that day, Stephen. My life began.'

'He sounds a lucky bugger,' says Stephen, half asleep. Will you think of me in your dreams?'

'I will. And you think of me in yours,' says Elizabeth.

'Thank you,' sighs Stephen. 'Thank you for letting me sleep. It's just what I need.'

'I know, darling,' says Elizabeth, and strokes his hair until his breathing stops altogether.

'There's a museum in Baghdad, you know. Have we been together?'

'No, my dear,' says Elizabeth. The places they won't go together now.

'I've written down the name for you', says Stephen 'On my desk. It has pieces from six thousand years ago, can you imagine? And on these pieces you can see fingerprints, you can see scratches where someone's child has come in and distracted them. You understand that are still alive? Everyone who dies is alive, these people We call people "dead" because we need a word for it, but "dead" just means that time has stopped moving for ward for that person? You understand? No one dies, not really.'

Elizabeth kisses the top of his head. Tries to inhale him.

'I understand this,' says Elizabeth. 'For all the words in the world, when I go to sleep tonight, my hand won't be in yours. That's all I understand.'

'You have me there,' says Stephen. 'I have no answer for that.'

'Grief doesn't need an answer, any more than love does,' says Elizabeth. It isn't a question.'

'Did you get milk?' says Stephen. People will want tea.' 

'Let me worry about milk,' says Elizabeth.

'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. There's still half a pint in the fridge, but it won't be enough. I forget I love you sometimes, did you know that?'

'I am glad I remember now,' says Stephen. 'And I'm glad that I shall never forget again.'

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!'

'That's what I've come to understand,' says Stephen. 'Mv memories are like emeralds, clear and bright and true, but every new day crumbles like sand, and I can't get hold of it at all.'

It had been fiddly, the injection. Not traumatic, not peaceful, not devastating, just fiddly. Just another every-day task in a lifetime of everyday tasks.

'It has shown me the lie of the thing,' says Stephen. 'The lie of time. Everything I've done and everything I've been is present in the same place. But we still think the thing that has just happened, or is about to happen, we think that's the most important thing. My memories aren't memories, my present isn't present, it's all the same thing, Elizabeth.'

Anthony had done a lovely job. Elizabeth just wants Stephen looking at his best. Wherever he is going, Elizabeth will want him to make a good impression, make people understand how special he is, and how loved he is.

I don't know how they will cope apart. Stephen will enter a new world, of course, but his walls closed in long ago now. Elizabeth loves him so utterly, and is loved by him so utterly, and that is being stolen from her.

I hope she finds him somewhere nearby, where she can visit often. The two of them will have talked in through, as much as they are able. Love always finds a language. Elizabeth hasn't come to ask me for help or advice, and I understand that completely, I know from experience that grief rides alone.

I cannot begin to imagine what Elizabeth is going through. Perhaps she feels that Stephen has already left. Perhaps that is where they are. It's between the two of them, and all I know is that I will be there for her. That's all I have to give.

They say that time softens the pain, but that's a fairy tale. Who would ever love again if anyone actually told the truth? I'm afraid there are some days when I could still rip out my own heart and weep myself hollow for Gerry. Some days? Every day. That's the journey my best friend has just begun.

So forgive me if, for just a while longer, I choose to imagine that Elizabeth is going to the Palace to see the King.

(...) out in public for the first time since goodness knows when, was Stephen.

He and Elizabeth walked up to the allotment, arm in arm, and Stephen said his hellos to the congregation. Everyone was 'old chum', 'old friend', 'chief'. Ibrahim gave him a hug, and Stephen smiled with joy and called him Kuldesh.

Ron rather formally shook his hand; he finds hugs hard. Stephen took one look at Ron's tattoos and said, West Ham man, eh? Better watch out for you, and then Ron gave him a hug too. When he met me he said, 'It's Joyce. There she is.'

Anyway, it felt like Elizabeth was allowing us to say our goodbyes. Certainly when I hugged him, I didn't want to let go.

And, of course, Stephen's hair was immaculate.

Bogdan and Stephen had found Snowy last weekend Now he's in a biodegradable wicker basket, which people laid white flowers on.

There was a surprisingly big turn-out. I think we all thought he was our own special secret, but, once the details were put up on the noticeboard, half the village turned out to pay their respects. They all knew him by different names, 'Lucky', 'Tippy', 'Moonlight', all sorts of things. The name 'Snowy' had come from Stephen.

'But if everyone here isn't telling the truths –' starts Ibrahim.

'Then, sooner or later, there's going to be a blood bath,' says Ron. And maybe donkey rides, can you still do donkey rides or are they banned?"

The waitresses have come in to clear away the coffee cups, and lunch draws to a close.

Stephen looks back towards his own window. 'On his way to see me, I suppose. On his way to say goodbye, and didn't make it.'

'We don't always get to say goodbye,' says Bogdan.

'No,' says Stephen. It's pure luck when you do. Sorry, Snowy old pal.'

Elizabeth smiles at Stephen in the mirror and he smiles back. Love can be so very easy sometimes.

He wants to make Donna proud. Christmas had been a dream, waking up late, watching Australian reality TV shows, losing at board games. Bogdan has not wanted to make anyone proud since his mother died. He likes it.

Had she really understood then that those were the best of times? That she was in heaven? She thinks she did understand, yes. Understood she had been given a great gift. Doing the crossword in a train carriage, Stephen with a can of beer ('I will only drink beer on trains, nowhere else, don't ask me why'), glasses halfway down his nose, reading out clues. 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 fibre starts returning to the stars, an atom at a time.

What is it about Christmas? Everything that's wrong seems worse, and everything that's right seems better.

all i'm asking for is one chapter of PEACE

Stas

Jeg gjemmer bort kjærligheten min. Og ingen har noen gang tatt hånden min under bordet siden.

De to mennene vinker muntert til politifolkene som holder øye med dem fra bakketoppen.

Give me a break, there are no more tears left in my body, this is so sweet

"Sånn har jeg det hver kveld. Jeg lengter etter Gerry. Jeg vet at jeg ikke kan nå ham, men jeg gir aldri opp å prøve."

Ibrahim og Ron ser på Joyce, deretter på hverandre. Ibrahim nikker svakt, og Ron himler med øynene.

"Greit, du kan bli og skravle om hva du vil."

"Bare hvis dere er helt sikre," sier Joyce, kåpen er allerede på vei av igjen.

Men uansett hvor mye livet lærer en at ingenting varer, er det likevel et sjokk når det forsvinner. Når mannen hun elsker med hver fiber i kroppen begynner å vende tilbake til stjernene, et atom av gangen.

Snowy, sofaen, Elizabeth. Stephen er elsket og trygg. Hva enn det er som foregår, og et eller annet er det, så er Stephen elsket, og Stephen er trygg. Det er et utgangspunkt. En stø grunn å stå på.

Doug Belshaw

The story was good but it is the incredibly beautiful descriptions of how Elizabeth and Stephen deal with his dementia that makes this such an interesting novel. I had tears streaming down my face at one point - and, once you've read it, you'll know which bit I mean.

I had fallen out of The Thursday Murder Club with the second and third installments falling a bit flat for me, but thoroughly enjoyed the fun of the 4th! Touching detaillings of love and grief, with a fun cast and story. 

Melodie

Absolutely loved this I have red all of the Thursday murder club books and I Absolutely love them I was sad when it ended I really hope there will be more in the future but I am looking forward to the next series 

Kathy gerrard

I LOVE these characters, and the way they develop, and thats what made this book sooo emotional...i am an absolute mess after reading this...

The mystery was also so exciting to follow, i love how vivid the side characters are, and there were moments that had me laughing out loud

I LOVE these characters, and the way they develop, and thats what made this book sooo emotional...i am an absolute mess after reading this...

The mystery was also so exciting to follow, i love how vivid the side characters are, and there were moments that had me laughing out loud

i love this series so dearly i fear

The whole series is so spectacular! A great pace, thrilling and is so funny! I wish I could forget what I read only to re-read all of them again, they’re really good and so heartwarming! 🥰

Olanda

Somewhat confusing (a lot of characters going), but so so good. Emotional and funny. Cried throughout, sobbed the last ~100 pages. 

Alyssa deRaad

The perfect book series does exist, and it's this one. The characters; witty, complex, and make the reader feel like one of the group. The story; compelling and lovely with impressive multi-viewpoint writing. 

Kate B-L

Another entertaining outing for the Thursday Murder Club, this time venturing into the murky world of antiques and heroin smuggling, while addressing contemporary concerns such as romance fraud and end of life choices.

Laura Dobie

A new mystery is afoot in the fourth book in the Thursday Murder Club series from million-copy bestselling author Richard Osman You'd think you be allowed to relax over Christmas, but not in the world of the Thursday Murder Club. On Boxing Day, a dangerous package is smuggled across the English coast. When it goes missing, chaos is unleashed. The body count starts to rise – including someone close to the Thursday Murder Club--as our gang face an impossible search, and their most deadly opponents yet. With the clock ticking down and a killer heading to Cooper’s Chase, has their luck finally run out? And who will be “The Last Devil To Die”?

These four pensioners are winning my heart over and over again. It’s just so pure and authentic, I need about a hundred books more of them ! 

Valentina

“however much life teaches you that nothing lasts, it is still a shock when it disappears”

ophelia ross 

Not just a delightful mystery with the most unlikely group of amateur detectives, but also a beautiful tale about love and time and growing old. Some heart wrenching moments and musings about it all that had me dripping literal tears onto the page. I love this series so much. 

Rachael Bahr

I just love this series, I don’t want it to ever end. Can barely choose who‘s my favourite character, but if possible, this novel made me love Ibrahim even more 

Lili

After struggling with my last read, I decided, "What would Elizabeth do?" and found my answer by picking up the latest adventures of the Thursday Murder Club.

These characters are incredible! It was like the warm hug I knew I needed being back with the gang! The character development is fantastic (who knew Joyce had it in her?)

I laughed, I cried (there was a few chapters there that left me a blubbering mess) and my heart aches not knowing when I can find myself back within the safety of Coopers Chase with these lovable but eccentric OAPs again.

The ultimate comfort read with an appropriate amount of mystery, and, as always, Joyce's baking thrown in!

Victoria Justice

This series means everything to me!

After struggling with my last read, I decided, "What would Elizabeth do?" and found my answer by picking up the latest adventures of the Thursday Murder Club.

These characters are incredible! It was like the warm hug I knew I needed being back with the gang! The character development is fantastic (who knew Joyce had it in her?)

I laughed, I cried (there was a few chapters there that left me a blubbering mess) and my heart aches not knowing when I can find myself back within the safety of Coopers Chase with these lovable but eccentric OAPs again.

The ultimate comfort read with an appropriate amount of mystery, and, as always, Joyce's baking thrown in!

Doug Belshaw &
The Last Devil to Die by Richard Osman

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Doug Belshaw &The Last Devil to Die by Richard Osman

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Join the club

Doug Belshaw &
The Last Devil to Die by Richard Osman