But she didn’t. She wanted to but she didn’t want to blow it.

No one at the memorial service believed she was dead either. Frankburg cut a rather tragic figure, speaking at a makeshift pulpit about a daughter who he was pretending was dead while scanning the faces of the guests trying to find her. It was an uncomfortable and depressing occasion and many people left halfway through, telling him to pull himself together.

Cody was outraged that he didn’t believe her note. Apart from anything else it was hostile literary criticism. She wondered which words were phony. If she wrote a better note he’d stop looking for her and start grieving properly. He’d certainly start grieving properly if he saw her dead body, but she didn’t want to think about that too much.

704

Beep.

“Hi. Graham, or rather Mr. Johansson. Sorry, shouldn’t’ve called you Graham. Rather presumptuous. It’s not that sort of call . . . um . . . I think I’ll try this again. This is Frankburg, by the way.”

Click.

703

Cody had compiled a top-ten writers’ last words:

10. “Now comes the mystery.” Henry Ward Beecher

9. “Light, more light.” Goethe

8. “Severn—I—lift me up—I am dying—I shall die easy—don’t be frightened—be firm and thank God it has come.” Keats

7. “Nothing, but death.” Jane Austen, on being asked what she wanted

6. “Don’t let the awkward squad fire over my grave.” Robert Burns

5. “I believe I’m going to die. I love the rain. I want the feeling of it on my face.” Katherine Mansfield

4. “It has all been very interesting.” Lady Montagu

3. “Lord, take my soul, but the struggle continues.” Ken Saro-wiwa

2. “What is the answer?” (No answer comes.) “In that case, what is the question?” Gertrude Stein

1. “Is it not meningitis?” Louisa M. Alcott

Cody put “Dad, by the time you read this I will be dead, thanks for everything” in that company and conceded that perhaps it did lack a certain something. The others also had the advantage of witnesses and a tangible corpse. If there was no corpse, the note had to be damn good.

702

Beep.

“Mr. Johansson. Frankburg here again. Listen, just disregard my last message. And the one before. Of course I shan’t be billing you for the missed session. I don’t know why I mentioned it. You can give me a discount flight to Geneva or something instead, ha ha. Give me a call when you’re ready. Bye.”

Frankburg put down the phone.

701

Cody boiled the kettle she’d stolen in February. She drank from the cup she’d stolen in April. She settled on the chair she’d stolen, with difficulty, in May. Then she wondered if she’d been stealing her old life back. Bit by bit.

She listened to Conquer Panic through to the end. Her father talked about fizzing balls of energy and some piano started playing. Rather nice.

She felt her eyes filling up a bit.

700