Would I fake my own death? Over my fake dead body

Charlotte Cripps, The Independent

Picture the scene: a sombre funeral. Mourners dressed in black. Then, friends and family of David Baerten, a 45-year-old TikTok prankster, in various stages of disbelief, look up to the sky witnessing the reality that his death was a trick to get them to appreciate him. Relatives who had never kept in touch when he was “alive,” sobbed their hearts out as they were reunited with him.

I couldn’t help but smile. Good for him. It was genius. Some will say this was a cruel trick. But, given the chance, wouldn’t you?

It might sound terribly sad — even total madness — to fake one’s death to get relatives to step up, but, deep down, we can all relate to it.

Who hasn’t fantasised about their own funeral? I feel a sense of empowerment just thinking about mine. It’s not the hymns and the music, although I’ve thought about that too. Adele booming “Hello from the other side”, just to rub it in for all those who haven’t called me for a while. Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” playing as the family cling to the sides of the coffin wishing they had popped over for supper last week.

It’s all the drama. I just love it. Would the people who have snubbed or forsaken me realise just how special I am? What they’ve been missing?

Baerten, known on TikTok as Ragnar le Fou, says he felt “unappreciated” by his relatives. Well, me too. My own siblings and I have fallen out spectacularly. My children don’t see their cousins as much as they should. So it makes me wonder, if I faked my own death, would they hold me tight in their arms and tell me, sobbing, that they love me, miss me and want to be friends? Would we get on again like we did as kids in the back of the Peugeot 505 on our way to Cornwall for a summer holiday and all that resentment, jealousy and rivalry would fade into the ether?

I’ve got form, here. When I was 15 and my first boyfriend ended it with me, I staged a moped crash outside his house in Putney. Perhaps it wasn’t as dramatic as it could have been – he was meant to witness it. My timing was out, and I made sure I looked pretty good when I rang his doorbell saying I didn’t know what else to do, and left the moped underneath a wheelie bin.

Looking back it was so obvious what I was up to. “Are you hurt?” he said. I nodded — “yes”, but I knew it was only that I was hurt in my heart.

We were teens. I would never consider staging a crash these days. The things we do for young love!

But I still can’t help but ponder how I would fake my own death. I always thought it was so awful when the “canoe man” John Darwin, a British teacher and prison officer turned up alive in 2007, five-and-a-half years after he was believed to have died in a canoeing accident in a mind-blowing insurance scam.

He apparently spent two years in a secret room in his house while his sons mourned, which is probably the worst part. Imagine being cooped up for so long inside. Me? I’d pretend to be eaten by a bear then disappear for a skiing holiday and come back a year later, feeling utterly refreshed.

I think we all need to take a leaf out of Baerten’s book. It’s a life lesson we could all do with — we shouldn’t wait until someone is dead to meet up with them. And we could all do with a break. A little spell without phone calls. Without deadlines. He actually acted out his fantasy. I’m not saying it’s right, but I’m still plotting mine.