Fractions_ The First Half of the Fall Revolution - Ken MacLeod [165]
Jordan was sitting at a table talking to some people she vaguely recognized from the Collective. He saw her, stared at her for a moment and then jumped up and bounded over to her. They threw their arms around each other.
‘Oh, wow, Janis! It’s great to see you. Good of you to make it.’
‘Hey, good of you to ask me, man. Congratulations.’ She caught his shoulder and held him at arm’s-length, looking him up and down critically. He had lost weight and seemed to have gained height. Black boots, black jeans, black leather coat, plain white cotton shirt with a black bootlace tie. ‘Very smart you look too. Kinda like a gamblin’ mahn…or a preacher mahn…hey!’ she added with mock suspicion. ‘You didn’t do it in a church, did you?’
‘Haill, no!’ said Jordan. ‘We got a ceremony from the British Humanist Association.’ He laughed, and repeated, as if amused and amazed by the whole idea, ‘The British Humanist Association! God, I had no idea atheism could be respectable.’
‘Songs by Carly Simon, readings from Alex Comfort, that sort of thing?’
‘That sort of thing.’
‘I wish I could have been there,’ Janis said. ‘But I only got back this morning to my old flat in Uxbridge and found the invite. This is my first leave. Uh, thanks for your letter. Did you get—?’
‘Yeah, I did, Janis. Thanks.’
He looked at her so sadly that she wanted to grab him and tell him everything, but instead she squeezed his shoulder and said, ‘I’m all right, Jordan. Now come on, take me to see your—’
She saw the bride coming round the corner of the bar and walking towards them; she held the image, taking it all in, storing it not only for the ghost that shared her vision but for herself. The girl was eye-wateringly beautiful; in her wedding dress she looked like a princess of the galaxy from an improbable future. Her hair, a nimbus around her head and falling back between her shoulderblades, made any veil redundant. Her dress fitted closely to her arms, breasts, waist and hips, twined with flower and leaves, re-embroidered in blazing natural colour on white lace. The lace flowed away into a crepe skirt which flared from above the knee, floating freely when she walked, hanging almost vertical when she stood still.
Janis blinked and took the hand that had been held out to her.
‘Hello, Janis.’
‘Hello, Cat. It’s wonderful to meet you. And today. I don’t know what to say. Congratulations.’ She hugged Cat and Jordan together. ‘Goddess, Cat, you look incredible. I’ve never seen a dress like that anywhere.’
‘Thank you.’ Cat smiled, stretching and flexing her arms. ‘I feel as if I could do anything in it. Run, swim, walk up walls. Fly.’
Jordan answered the unstated question. ‘She’s not telling,’ he said. ‘I suspect an arrangement with a colony of nimble-fingered faerie folk.’ He looked past Cat. ‘Just a minute.’ He plunged into the crowd and tapped a young woman on the shoulder and started talking to her.
‘Does he often rush off and talk to strange girls in pubs?’ Janis asked.
‘All the time.’
Janis had worried about this moment. If she and Jordan were affected by Moh’s death, how must it be for Cat, who had known him longer than either of them, loved him for years? She wanted to acknowledge this, yet didn’t want to cloud Cat’s happiness. Just standing next to the woman was like being in a sunlit garden.
‘Drink?’ Cat asked.
‘Uh, vodka-cola, thanks.’
Cat made some mystic gestures and two drinks appeared beside them.
‘Shall we sit?’
She strode to the nearest table, which by the time they sat down had become unoccupied, wiped clean and furnished with a translucent ashtray.
‘Cheers.’
‘Live long and prosper.’
‘I—’
‘I—’
‘No, you—’
Cat smiled. ‘All right. This probably sounds terrible, but if I don’t say it now it’ll be on our