Soul Trade by Caitlin Kittredge

too stoned to keep me inside, so I watched the whole thing from the pavement until the fire brigade shooed me away.”
    “Dare I ask what greasy friend of yours we’re bunking with in this charming hamlet?” Pete said. Alexandra Park wasn’t any worse than wandering down the wrongstreet in Peckham, but there was an undercurrent of hostility that she’d never felt in her hometown. They weren’t wanted, and both the residents of the estate and the currents of the Black drifting through like oily water made sure that Pete knew it.
    Jack kicked his boot over the broken pavement, all at once unable to meet her eyes. Pete pursed her lips. “What? What about this am I not goingto like?”
    He sighed. “Tried a few numbers. One’s dead, one’s a guest of Her Majesty for the next five to seven years, so if we want to stay off the screen, this is our only choice.”
    Pete cocked her eyebrow, letting Jack know she didn’t appreciate the ultimatum. “Spit it out. What’s wrong with the bloke?”
    Jack stamped out his fag. “Nothing’s wrong with her. Not all me friends have some inherentcharacter flaw.”
    “Oh” was all Pete said. She’d been prepared for most anything, except that. It wasn’t as if she shouldn’t have guessed. It wasn’t as if she could explode, stamp her foot, and demand to go home. Jack had slept with other women—she’d slept with other men, too. She’d just smile, be calm, and put up with whatever ex or former fling he’d dragged her to with the style and grace befittinga fucking grown-up.
    “It’s just up there,” Jack said, sidling away from Pete as if she might bite him. She forced herself to put a smile on her face and pretend her stomach wasn’t in a knot. It wasn’t the woman—it was coming face to face with Jack’s history, the part of his life he’d never spoken about for more than two sentences.
    This woman would know it all, far more than Pete. She’d have memoriesthat Pete could never share.
    Which was far more of a reason to be flamingly jealous than sex. Pete breathed deep as Jack hopped the steps of one of the dingy council houses and pounded on the door with the flat of his hand. She could be gracious for however long they were stuck here.
    The door burst open, and a blonde wearing a bright red top and fitted jeans exploded from within the house. “Jackie!”she cried, and threw her arms around Jack, nearly knocking him off his feet. “Come here, you bastard!” the woman cried. “Let me get a look at that mug!”
    Or she could try not to kick the woman’s teeth in, Pete revised. Graciousness might be a peak she couldn’t summit.
    “Fuck me,” Jack said, patting the blonde on the back while trying to wriggle free. “’M not fifteen any longer. Be gentle withme.”
    “Can’t believe you’re still standing, much less walking and talking,” the blonde said, slugging Jack on the arm. “The way we all went back then, thought you’d be six feet down for sure.”
    “What can I say?” Jack said. “The bad pennies always turn up.” He stepped back and held the blonde at arm’s length. “It’s good to see you too, luv.”
    Before the blonde replied, she finally noticed Petewas there. Her expression narrowed, and Pete felt as if a bright and critical spotlight had been turned directly in her eyes. Jack’s friend might be a chavvy blonde with a big grin on her face, but her eyes were the same as Jack’s—those of a suvivor who’d seen and absorbed too much in their lifespan. Pete decided then and there that she wasn’t turning her back on Jack’s childhood sweetheart, not fora split second.
    But it didn’t mean she had to be a cunt, either, so she stepped up and extended her hand. “I’m Pete.”
    If the blonde thought the name was odd, she didn’t let on, just crushed Pete’s small fingers in a dockworker’s grip. “Wendy.”
    “Good to meet someone Jack was mates with back in the day,” Pete said, leaving off the snide implication that