{"id":13112,"date":"2025-12-19T14:25:39","date_gmt":"2025-12-19T13:25:39","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=13112"},"modified":"2025-12-20T12:56:33","modified_gmt":"2025-12-20T11:56:33","slug":"incident-at-the-castle","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/?p=13112","title":{"rendered":"Incident at the Castle"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"\"
Image: \u00a9 Courtesy of Manchester City Galleries<\/span><\/p>\n

[Content trigger warning: suicide]<\/p>\n

There was an incident at the castle. Someone fell from the walls. Or jumped or was pushed. Jason says we must<\/em> have a look. It will be so<\/em> much fun. When we get there, there\u2019s already a cordon of blue ticker tape and a crowd of onlookers three deep. Jason grabs my hand and pushes his way to the front. \u201cThis will be so<\/em> cool,\u201d he says. A big guy in a yellow jacket blocks his way. \u201cHow about a quick look?\u201d Jason asks. The big guy in the yellow jacket says, \u201cHow about a bit of fucking<\/em> respect?\u201d<\/p>\n

We walk into the village. Jason keeps looking back, at the thickening crowd. An ambulance, lights flashing but siren off, flies by. \u201cThat fucking guy,\u201d Jason says, meaning the big guy in the yellow jacket. \u201cI\u2019m telling you, he\u2019ll never know how close he came there.\u201d<\/p>\n

We queue for coffee from a kiosk on the village green. We inch forward, under the shade of an oak tree. The woman in front of us is wearing a bikini that is two sizes too small. Jason doesn\u2019t even pretend not to notice. \u201cAn old man,\u201d the woman says to another woman, also in a too-small bikini. They look like sisters. \u201cApparently he jumped.\u201d The other woman makes a face. \u201cIt\u2019s disgusting,\u201d she says. \u201cHow could someone do that? Jump from a height like that? Knowing some poor sod will have to clean up all the mess later on? All the blood and guts. It\u2019s really disgusting. And, if you ask me, selfish.\u201d<\/p>\n

We visit the crow museum to get out of the heat. Jason says crows are a big deal in the village. He read something about it but can\u2019t remember what. He tries to explain it but stops. He tries again and stops again. \u201cIt doesn\u2019t matter,\u201d he says. I buy a lined notebook with a crow on the front, a box of fudge with a crow on the front and a tote bag with a crow on the front. Jason doesn\u2019t buy anything. \u201cI guess I\u2019m just not that into crows,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

He pitches his tent behind the church, next to a No Camping sign. \u201cDon\u2019t sweat it,\u201d he says, double checking the guy ropes. There\u2019s a campsite a mile out of the village, and I suggest we try it, just for the night, till we get our bearings. I look around, at the crooked headstones and freshly laid flowers. \u201cThis is all a bit, you know.\u201d Jason won\u2019t have any of it, and says he doesn\u2019t do campsites. \u201cTourists,\u201d he explains.<\/p>\n

The waitress in the pub next to the museum says the old man was pushed. She says her boyfriend\u2019s cousin knows someone who works with the wife of one of the first responders, so it\u2019s straight from the horse\u2019s mouth. Jason asks if she knows the guy with the yellow jacket. \u201cBig guy,\u201d he says. \u201cUgly face.\u201d The waitress says, \u201cThat\u2019ll be Wayne. You don\u2019t want to mess with Wayne.\u201d<\/p>\n

It\u2019s after midnight and we\u2019re on the beach doing handstands in the soft sand. I don\u2019t remember the hows and whys of it but we\u2019re naked and it doesn\u2019t feel wrong at all. There\u2019s an island about a mile out to sea and when Jason stops and looks at it he goes quiet for a while and says he used to come here with his parents when he was little and his dad used to swim to the island and back, even in the winter, even when there were jellyfish everywhere. On the way back to the church he says his dad died last year. \u201cI\u2019d like to say he drowned, but he didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n

We meet the waitress coming out of the pub. She recognises Jason first, then me, and recounts exactly what we had ordered. Steak and kidney pie, haddock and chips, mushy peas, gravy, new potatoes, bramble crumble and custard, a banana split with extra squirty cream, two flat whites and a pint of cider. It\u2019s her party trick, she says. \u201cI never<\/em> forget an order.\u201d<\/p>\n

She says we can come back to her place but there\u2019ll be no funny business. She rents a cottage near the golf course and says she can only afford it because it belongs to the guy who owns the pub and he gives her a twenty-five percent discount. She opens a bottle of red wine and says she can make some eggs if anyone is hungry because eggs is all she\u2019s got. Her boyfriend, who is clinically if not morbidly obese, eats four boiled eggs and falls asleep on the sofa. Jason tries to wake him up. Says he wants to wake him up and fight him because he\u2019s never had a fight with someone as fat as that.<\/p>\n

The waitress walks us back to the church. It\u2019s three in the morning and the castle is silhouetted high above us, towering over the village. \u201cIt must be weird,\u201d I say, \u201chaving the castle there, right there, watching<\/em> you.\u201d The waitress shrugs. \u201cYou get used to it. Sometimes you forget it\u2019s even there.\u201d<\/p>\n

She says she\u2019s never been in a tent before, so we all squeeze in and lie back and look up at the castle through the gap in the door. \u201cThey usually fly a flag,\u201d she says. \u201cA Union Jack. But they took it down as a mark of respect.\u201d She says someone in the pub, a tourist, said the old man jumped of his own accord and that he left a suicide note. Someone else said it was an old woman, not an old man, and that they\u2019d slipped. An accident. Someone else said it was a little boy and it was a miracle because he survived. Lots of broken bones, but he survived. \u201cI\u2019ll drink to that,\u201d Jason says, getting up. He rummages through his rucksack. \u201cIf I had<\/em> any drink.\u201d<\/p>\n

Sometime in the early hours, the waitress rolls over and whispers, \u201cHow long have you guys been together?\u201d Jason is sleeping, half in and half outside the tent. \u201cAbout twenty-four hours,\u201d I say, and laugh. I tell her we met in Wetherby service station, cadged a lift off a shoe salesman en route to Scotland, planned to go all the way to Edinburgh with him but decided at the last minute to get out in Belford when Jason saw the sea and remembered the island and said he really missed his dad.<\/p>\n

There\u2019s no sign of the waitress in the morning. Jason says he wants to leave, says he should have just gone to Edinburgh as planned. \u201cThis fucking place,\u201d he says, looking back towards the castle. I tell him I\u2019m going to stay for a few more days. \u201cI like it,\u201d I say. \u201cI really like it here.\u201d He doesn\u2019t ask where I\u2019m going to stay or what I\u2019m going to do, and when he leaves, his tent on his back, he doesn\u2019t say goodbye.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Gary Duncan\u2019s<\/strong> stories have appeared in Unbroken Journal, X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine and Flash: The International Short-Short Story Magazine, among others. His short story collection, You\u2019re Not Supposed to Cry, is available from Vagabond Voices.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Image: \u00a9 Courtesy of Manchester City Galleries [Content trigger warning: suicide] There was an incident at the castle. Someone fell from the walls. Or jumped or was pushed. Jason says we must have a look. It will be so much fun. 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