Glasshouse - Charles Stross [137]
“Pregnant?” El looks at me with her baby-blue eyes and puts one hand on her stomach. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
I try not to wince too obviously. “My period’s overdue,” says Bernice.
Permanence. “What else are they doing?” I probe.
“There are a lot of new facilities opening up,” Tammy explains enthusiastically. “There’s a kinematoscope, and a swimming pool and gymnastic coliseum, and a theatre. More shops, too. And City Hall will be open for business.”
Bernice cracks before I do. “Whoa. That’s a new one on me!”
“I think they’re trying to make us comfortable,” says Janis.
“Us?” I ask. “Or them?” My eyes take in bellies around the table, occupied bellies. In fact, mine is the only un-occupied one here. Thanks to Sam.
“Does it make any difference? I’m pretty sure most of us will be too busy changing nappies soon to worry about anything else.”
Janis has a tone of voice that she uses when she means to convey the exact opposite of the literal meaning of her words. She’s using it now, laying on the sarcasm with a trowel.
I smile brightly. “Then I suppose you think we should lie back and enjoy these wonderful new recreational resources!”
“Reeve,” Tammy says warningly, “this is serious.”
“Oh, you bet,” I agree enthusiastically. “Absolutely!” I finish my drink. “I’m sure you ladies have got lots of important things to be talking about, but I just remembered I haven’t finished washing the dishes, and I’ve got to clear out the garage before my husband gets home.” I stand up. “Thanks for the weaving, Janis. See you later?”
The rest of the soi-disant ladies’ sewing circle look dubious, but Janis smiles back at me, then winks. “Be seeing you!”
I beat a hasty retreat. I like Janis, but this sewing circle of hers frightens me. She’s unhappy here, that much is clear, and I don’t think she’ll want Dr. Hanta to help her over it. I’m going to have to tell Fiore about Janis, I realize. She needs help. After Church tomorrow?
THE journey to Church the next day is strained and tense. We dress in our Sunday best and call a taxi as usual, but Sam doesn’t say anything—he’s taken to communicating in grunts—and keeps casting me odd sidelong looks when he thinks I won’t notice. I pretend not to see. In truth I’m tense, too, winding myself up for the inevitable and unpleasant conversation with Fiore after the service. Church is packed these days, and we’re lucky to get a seat. At least there are other churches in the other parishes (and presumably other instances of Fiore to preach in them), so it’s not likely to get any more crowded. “We’ll have to leave earlier in future,” I tell Sam, and he stares at me.
Fiore walks in and goes to the front, and the music strikes up, a catchy brassy little number by (my netlink tells me) a composer named Brecht. Then Fiore starts the service proper. “Dear congregants, we are gathered here today in unity to recognize our place in the universe, our immutable roles in the great cycle of life, which none shall take from us. Let us praise the designers who have given us this day and all the days before us a role to fulfill! Praise the designers!”
“Praise the designers!” echoes the congregation.
“Dear congregants, let us remember that true meaning and happiness in life can be found through complying with the great design! A round peg in a round hole!”
“A round peg in a round hole!” rolls the response.
“Let us also give thanks for the happiness that has come to Mrs. Reeve Brown, who is now most certainly a round peg in a round hole, and for the solace and comfort that members of our congregation’s away team have brought to Mrs. Cassandra Green, now recovering in hospital! Happiness, comfort, and solace!”
“Happiness, comfort, and solace!”
I shake my head, happy but confused. I can’t figure it out, why is Fiore holding me of all people up as an example to the rest of the congregation? I glance round and see Jen, a couple of aisles away, staring snake eyes at me.
“It is our duty to care for our neighbors, to help them conform to the ways of our