We Knew That We Couldn't Surv iv e

It was coming up for half past 7, and Bethany's progress in the getting ready stage of tonight was almost complete. She was usually punctual for everything and made use of the sometimes fleeting time well. Bethany initially thought that being on time was an inherent given, a status quo to which there doesn't exist a "not being on time" sense of time. But in her progress through life she had encountered a sizable number of contemporaries who failed to be ready or early for anything on time; nights out, parties, weddings, festivals, lectures, shopping days. Moreover, many of these people, particularly Bethany's college friends would always note to her her remarkable punctuality, at least in comparison to the perpetually behind them.

Though she was not particularly organised, Bethany did things in an almost sequentially organised fashion, rarely turning her attention away from a task to start another unless she had justifiable reason to do so. Sometimes it made her come off a bit strange and overly focused, especially as many of her hobbies tended to be activities that do not have specific boundaries for beginning and ending. For example, she loved to read, and would frequently finish books within record time of starting them, often reading chapters without interruption, soaking up hours and hours of her time, and everyone else's, judging by the way they reacted to her oddly fixated behavioural patterns. She would listen to discographies of bands for hours on end, simply to get herself familiar with their work and enjoy it as one continuous narrative whole.

"So what," she thought about that. There was nothing wrong with getting wrapped up in activities in such a way, especially when they didn't test your physical strength or stamina too much.

Still, she would probably need her stamina for tonight. Mancunians liked to drink, probably on par with Glaswegians and Bethany could barely keep up with the Glaswegian pace of drinking. Since she had made her move down three weeks ago she had barely spent a penny on alcohol, mostly because all her funds had been thrown at getting her dingy flat looking acceptable, and treating herself to a new haircut and some new clothes for starting her new job, if her location was undergoing such a revolution then at least her wardrobe could follow suit. So she resolved that she would line her stomach with a bottle of blue WKD and a ham sandwich, whipped up from the depths of her declining food stocks. She was more nervous than normal about this night out, for all her passion for nursing, she felt dwarfed and isolated in this now strange place, and she was sure her bolshy, Mancunian colleagues looked bemusedly at her retiring nature and strange habits.

As half past 7 became 8 o clock, Bethany applied the finishing touches of her proudly acquired Benefit eyeliner and threw on her denim jacket over her maxi dress and boots, the latter being a necessary choice as Bethany felt a strange sense of comfort in them. They were imposing and thick, and in her jaunt around Manchester's nightlife she would need to feel as outwardly tough and resilient as possible.

She brushed off feelings of hype and overwrought thought, and dashed out of her flat and into the night, and right on time as well. This first night out with her new coworkers was going to be a crucial one, as she would need to form some friendships fast, or be drowned under the weight of this increasingly lonely place. While routinely bringing herself back to the old adage of "just be yourself," Bethany mused painfully over the thought that she would have to make a good impression of herself tonight, and try and bond with her co-workers outside of work, while trying to hit the right balance between nice and friendly and too nice and overbearing.

Her fast-paced and teeth-clenching work didn't prove for much of a setting for forming new solid friendships, but she had struck up a vague connection with a plucky redhead called Rachel (Rach) from somewhere near Stockport, as Rach put it bluntly. Rach was something of a busybody/gossip in the hospital, and seemed to know or at least have an active interest in everyone's shady goings-on. Perhaps it was Bethany's offbeat demeanour and peculiar Scottish accent that piqued the salacious Rach's interest in her, but at this stage Bethany was just happy someone even recognised her existence, at least enough to cordially invite her along with some workmates after a shift.

Consisting mostly of nurses and nurse practitioners (doctors, nurses, surgeons and other staff didn't seem to interact much outside of their occupational social boundaries), the work night out's lineup was still unconfirmed, at least to Bethany. She had neglected to ask Rach who exactly would be going, but that lineup was always subject to change with these things. Rach proffered a specific and generic set of instructions, Bethany was to call her when she was leaving and to call again when she reached the cross of Princess Street and Portland Street.

And that was what Bethany did. Leaving the 37, or 57, or 146 bus (approximately every bus leaving Bethany's street in Longsight somehow dutifully went through the city centre, and she didn't pay much attention to which bus she got on) she rung the salacious Rach once again, confirming her co-ordinates and asking for further instructions.

B: "Hi Rachel, that's me at Princess Street now, where will I get you in?"

R: "Where will you get me in? Haha what does that mean? You scottish people are mad, alright, we're in a place called the Tiger Lounge, have you been there yet? It's on Cooper Street, just up Princess Street. Dead easy to find. I'll meet you outside it in 5 minutes love, me and Courtney will be having a ciggie."

B: "Ah right yeah that's great (Bethany was going to have walk even further up Princess Street, why the hell did Rachel send her down here!?), I'll be there soon, I've not been before but I know where you mean. I'll see you in a bit. Who is all there so far?"

R: "Great. Well right now it's me, Courtney (Courtnehhh), Bianca (Beeyankah), one of the A+E girls, Graham (Gray-uum) from Radiology and Marta (*poorly pronounced faux-european*), the Polish girl from A+E as well. I don't know if Marta was too keen on coming, I thought she thought we were all a bit loud and crude but she's dead nice and she drinks Stella! I love Stella and there she's knocking it back without a care in t'world! Everyone was callin me a lesbo for drinking it last week as well, and she's definitely not a lesbo and she drinks it. By the way right, do you think I come off like a lesbian?  Not that that's a bad thing or nothing, I just need to know."

B: "Ummm... no I don't think you're a lesbian. Or you act like a lesbian, Rach. I'll...I'll be there soon, and we can talk about it."

R: "All right then. Are you a lesbian? Not that it's a thing or anything, just that me and Coutrney were thinking about it earlier, cos i mean you hadn't said if you had been checking out any blokes about the hospital or that."

B: "I'm not a lesbian Rachel. I had a couple of experiences, you know, the way everyone did when they were drunk and 18, but I'm a boring straight (Beth laughed nervously, sex or even sexuality was never a subject she wanted to scream from the rooftops about)."

R: "All right then fair enough ya big lesbo. See you soon love."

B: "See you in a bit ya big dyke."

Bethany chirped with a stunted laugh as she hung up, afraid the dropping of the d-word might have been a step too far in the banter. Who knows how Manchester people react to certain forms of humour, or how "far" constitutes "far" here. It was all a bit much for the slightly daunted Bethany, who wandered round the corner of Princess Street and swung right into Cooper Street, where she could make out a waving Rachel and some figures next to her, avidly consuming cigarettes en masse. Should Bethany point out to them the hypocrisy of them smoking away while essentially being agent to help save, lengthen and improve people's lives, something that smoking did the exact opposite to.

"Fuck it," she thought; Hypocritical quandaries aside, she was here to make an impression, have some fun, and finally start enjoying herself and living her life.

We Knew That We Couldn't Surviiive

The dark of night crept in slowly, despite the train's disconcerting whir as it hurtled through the English countryside.  Leticia and Wesley were whizzing somewhere between Crewe and Manchester, at least, that was the last stop Wesley remembers them pulling away from. Neither of them really grasped the notion that they had to change at Preston until the robotic Virgin Trains tannoy voice bellowed the call that the train would soon be approaching Preston. Just when they were officially sanctioned 'out of the woods' and could relax they were in upheaval again, jostling and grabbing frantically to leave this doomed train and board another, set for Manchester. As they left the train, due for London, an even more distant destination but one not pertinent to this voyage, Wesley's eyes hovered around the looming Preston train station lights, a daunting howl of trains, weaving in and out of another as they arrive and depart, and the familiar monotone, robotic tannoys directing commuters on their chosen path. It had nothing on the spectral glass kingdom of Glasgow Central, but it had a greyed out, Northern charm that despite its blandness, had a quaint kick for Wesley. Perhaps he had been watching too much Coronation Street as of late.

Leticia's initial buzz had simmered to a focused pensive growl as she plodded through the station, leading the way in a sense as she directed herself and Wesley to Platform 6, for the Manchester Piccadilly train. It had not been officially stated that Leticia was taking charge of this trip, but it had somewhat become the accepted status quo, as Leticia had hatched the frankly reckless plan in the first place. What if their house got trashed? What about their innocent, ignorant flatmate Harry, of whom they had completely disregarded in all the chaos. Back in Carlisle it dawned on Wesley that Harry would quickly wonder where they've gone and why their things are gone, then to be greeted at the door by the cartoonishly intimidating and daunting Sprinkle and two of his mates, and be asking for them, with callous intent. Harry, poor Harry, pondered Wesley. He didn't even take drugs and he would likely have a panic attack at the mere mention of all this being possible, which played a large part in why Leticia and Wesley were hell-bound to phone him to fill him in on this. As neither could bring themselves to do it by Penrith, they anxiously awaited a phonecall from his number, staring blankly into their mobile phone screens.

The mood had turned somewhat serious, and somewhat sour as trajectory became reality, something terrible was going to happen to Harry, and the house if he just happened to be in when Sprinkle came knocking. Ignorant of who each other were, the initial hilarity would dissipate as Sprinkle would demand information about the errant Leticia and Wesley. An ignorant Harry would be lost for an answer, genuinely denied as such which in turn would not go down well with Sprinkle, who would reasonably yet incorrectly assume that it was all lies to cover for them.

It was this though that finally compelled a frantic Wesley to make that call. But he wouldn't to Harry himself.

N: "Wesley."

W: "Hi Nancy. I need to ask a peculiar yet essential favour of you. Are you with Harry just now or know where he is?"

N: "Oh right. Well I saw Harry today with that girl he's seeing going into the subway, they must have been heading into town."

W: "Cool, what time would this have been about?"

N: "Errr, about half 4 I guess, would've been as I was coming back from work so yeah about half 4, 5 o clock. Why?"

W: "No reason. Look, errr... Me and Leticia are going to see her sister for a few days, she's taken a bad turn and Leticia doesn't think she's doing so well, and she's a bit lonely, so we've decided to go keep her company.

N: "Oh right that's nice... Doesn't Leticia's sister live in England or something?"

W: "Well yeah, we're in Preston right now actually, about to head on a train to Manchester."

N: "Fucking hell when did you two decide this? And why wasn't anyone invited?"

W: "It was a pretty on the spot decision. I'll need to explain it later. Right this is the favour part."

N: "Here it comes. Is it to tell Harry that you've fucked off and left him in the house to deal with things while you two live it up?"

W: "Yes. That and, not to go back to the house tonight. At least not until later. Try and get him out or see where he is with that date and keep him away from the flat for a bit. It's for his own good. I'll explain tomorrow. It's nothing serious."

N: "What the fuck? Why does he have to stay away from the house? Has something happened? What the fuck's going on? Let me speak to Leticia."

W: "Nanc... right now isn't the best time. All I can say for now is, Leticia and I...need to stay away from Glasgow for a wee while. And so does Harry from that flat, at least for tonight."

N: "Wesley, tell me what the fuck yous two have done now. This isn't funny. Where's Leticia? I'm phoning her."

The call bleeped, and Nancy disconnected. Wesley appeared crestfallen. Leticia stared at him and waited for her phone to ring. She held it up, as a picture of her and Nancy, eating ice cream (one of those personalised pictures when a friend calls function) and tapped the disconnect button.

"I can't face her right now. She's probably already worked out what's happened. At least she'll be smart enough to get Harry away from the flat." Leticia declared.

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On the train bound for Manchester, Leticia and Wesley had decided to turn off their phones, at least until they had to give Leticia's unstable sister a call to confirm we were nearly at Piccadilly, and she would greet them from the station, and no doubt be filled in on the nonsense that her younger sibling had gotten herself into. Wesley witnessed Leticia send a lengthy, carefully plotted text as they got on the train, no doubt to Nancy, but he didn't want to heighten the tension by pestering her as to what the text said. He could already surmise it contained mixed messages of placation as to their situation, and brief explanation of the dangerous web they had weaved. Although being utterly disapproving and appalled at their ridiculous actions, Nancy could be trusted to go into Mother Hen mode and provide crucial damage control, especially for the blissfully ignorant Harry, who, upon having to hear about their tangle second hand from his mutual friend Nancy, would surely be so infuriated and betrayed that they would probably not see him again after they would inevitably return. Wesley predicted that the paranoid android's first reaction would be to stamp and moan and curse Leticia and his names into the grounds of hell. Next he would call his boisterous, reactionary father who would whoosh down with a removal van from Aberfoyle and collect his precious son and his things and take him away from the hellish drug den flat by tomorrow afternoon. Said outraged father would then hound Wesley and Leticia's mobiles with calls, baying for blood, and with good reason.

It had never been plain sailing in Leticia, Wesley and Harry's living situation, even from day one. Since the relatively sheltered Harry had clung to the more duplicitous and streetwise Leticia from the start of university, perhaps admiring her sense of purpose and achievability of her goals, however dubious they were. Despite their best behaviour and parent pleasing charms, Wesley, Leticia, Nancy and Siobhan had never managed to really present themselves well to Harry painfully traditional and stereotypical father. Poor performances at Harry's "dignified" 21st birthday celebration had cemented this notion, and this latest life-threatening drama would seal the cement with even more cement, while gaining some points for being so comically outrageous and dangerous. Some unpaid rent is one thing, drug dealers destroying your house over an errantly gained drug debt is another. In some form Wesley and Leticia might make great case studies for a typical moralistic and outraged Daily Mail article on the wayward and degenerate youth of today. The stuff of legend, perhaps.

Leticia leant her head against the window and peered out into the dark English countryside, anxiously awaiting the next leg of their adventure, which was about to commence. Wesley tapped his rucksack, still saying little and in a way, the silence at this point felt appropriate as the calm before the storm