Part 14 (1/2)
”I'm a wreck,” Ruth said.
”We'll both be, soon enough,” said Frida. ”Unless we act quickly.”
”Why do you want me to go to Richard?”
”I want you to be happy,” said Frida. Ruth suspected her of telling the truth. ”You don't know what it's meant to me, living here with you these last few weeks. You're like the mother I-”
”No,” said Ruth.
”No?”
”I won't go to Richard.” That was easy enough: the lilies are over, don't go to Richard. Ruth was irritated at herself, actually, for almost falling for it: that version of leaving her house, of ending her life, as if she might scrub out the disappointment of fifty years ago and step, bridal, over Richard's door. ”If he wants me, he can come here. I hope he comes. I'll invite him.”
”But-”
”You can still help me. You can go away,” said Ruth, and that was easy too. ”You leave me alone, and I'll help you. I'll lend you the money for your mother's house. I have plenty of money. I'll pay the bank-tell them that.”
”I can't tell them that,” said Frida. She was very still at her end of the couch, but Ruth could see the tick of her temple.
”Why not?”
”It's too much money.”
”You took care of my house, and now I'll take care of yours. It's like a poem.”
”What are you talking about?”
”It rhymes,” Ruth said, explanatory.
Frida sighed. ”Do you know how much money that would be?” She shook her head. Something was amazing her.
”I have plenty of money,” said Ruth. ”Harry sold the Sydney house. That was a big house.”
”I don't know what to say,” said Frida. She seemed caught up in a kind of sad, disbelieving relief.
”But you have to leave. You can't live here anymore. You should live in your mother's house and leave me alone.”
”I'll go,” said Frida. ”I'm already going. But I want to make you happy, you understand? I don't want to leave you all alone in this horrible house.”
”There's nothing wrong with this house,” said Ruth. ”Only I worry-isn't it silly? I do worry about that tiger.”
”Really? The one thing you're worried about is the tiger?”
Ruth nodded, embarra.s.sed.
”We can't have that,” said Frida. ”You leave the tiger to me.”
”What will you do?” asked Ruth, a little fearful.
”What needs to be done.” Now Frida sat upright. ”How do I know you won't forget all this tomorrow?”
”I might,” admitted Ruth, trying to smooth out the lumps in her skirt. ”So I'll write myself a note. Isn't that what people do?”
This prompted Frida into action. She rolled up from the couch and into the dining room; the first writable surface she found was Ruth's detective novel, which she opened to the first page and settled on Ruth's lap.
”Write it here.” Frida produced a pen from about her person.
Ruth felt as if she were signing a book she'd written. She tested the pen with a little flourish at the top of the page, then wrote, under the t.i.tle, ”TRUST FRIDA.”
”What's the date?” she asked.
”I don't know,” said Frida. ”Tuesday night.”
So Ruth wrote, in brackets, ”Tuesday night.”
”How do we do this?” she asked, blowing lightly on the book. The pen's ink had blotted on the cheap paper. ”Do we go to the bank?”
”Yes,” said Frida. ”But! But! You can't just go into a bank and say you're buying a house. We need George, we need a solicitor, we need all kinds of things. I told him we couldn't rush this.”
Ruth, knowing Frida would find a way around these problems, remained silent and waited for it.
”But,” said Frida. ”But! How about this? You transfer the money to George, I get a written agreement from him-we sort out the details later. The main thing is to get this done before they take the house.”
”When do they take the house?”
”Friday.”
”I'll write a cheque,” said Ruth. ”Bring me my book.” Ruth had always enjoyed writing cheques. They were so businesslike.
”A cheque'll take days to clear,” said Frida.
”Not really, not these days.” Ruth remembered Harry's explaining this. ”It's only about three business days, these days.” And she laughed, because having said days three times made it feel as if those days had already pa.s.sed.
Frida zigzagged up and down the living room. This was her thinking walk. ”Three days is too long,” she said. ”All right, all right. This is what we're going to do. If it's okay by you.” She tapped at her forehead as if coaxing her brain. ”We'll go into town tomorrow and go to the bank. They know you in the bank, don't they?”
”Some of them might know me. I haven't been to town for a long time.”
”Yeah, not for ages.” Frida shook her head. ”And you can buy cheques that clear quickly. There's a name for that-what is it?”
The word dropped into Ruth's head. ”Expedite,” she said.
”That's it!” Frida raised her jubilant arms. ”Is that how you say it? Say it again.”
Ruth cleared her throat. ”Expedite.” In her mind's eye, she saw ek-sp-dt.
”Expedite!” cried Frida. ”And that's what we're going to do. Now what about Jeffrey?”