'A Good Day for Jumping' on Amazon Countdown (99p/$0.99) 15th - 19th March

Here's a snippet from chapter 12 of 'A Good Day for Jumping' (contemporary fiction/character-driven mystery/suspense, set mainly on the island of Crete) which will be offered at a promotional price of 99p/$0.99 from 15th - 19th March.
 Dear Sis,How’s things?  Hope you and Mum are okay.It’s a bit mental out here to tell the truth.  One of the lads in the picture got shot in the head today, out on patrol.  He hadn’t been here long and was just a kid.  I didn’t see it happen but Johnny did.  He knew the lad best and has taken it badly.  It’s hard to say how it hits you, especially the first time (Johnny’s, not mine) - but it stays inside you for ages, like something heavy in your stomach.  I’m no good with words so I can’t really explain it any better to you.I suppose we shouldn’t be so shocked by it but we are.  All I think about is having a laugh with him this morning – we were cleaning our kit, four of us together, cursing the dust and listening to Rob’s letter from a woman who’d sent him some chewing gum and some batteries.  Jamie’s face was a picture – all smile – like in the photo.  Sorry, he’s the one at the front, that’s Rob on the other side of me.  So I just keep thinking of chewing that gum and listening to this woman telling us about her garden and her house and how she thought we were all heroes.  And then Jamie went out on patrol and got shot.  It knocks the stuffing out of you.  Some of the lads got so angry Sarg had to calm them down and stop them going back out to get the guy who’d shot him.Then, as if all this wasn’t enough, a chopper came in to take the Taliban sniper to the trauma unit.  One of the other patrols got him - shot in the shoulder.  They brought him to base and he just lay there moaning, saying he was a villager, not a soldier.  Sarg had to keep a couple of the lads back to start with but sis, when you saw him lying there, not understanding what we said, covered in blood…  He must’ve been scared shitless.Galling to see him lifted to safetythough, when Jamie didn’t have a chance.  Days like these are tough.  I know you won’t tell Mum all this, but you can tell her I’m all right and getting lots of grub.  Spam and noodles!  We get Spam most days with other stuff like beans or rice.  You know what they say about beans – well Spam is evil, I tell you.  Some nights we could kill the Taliban with the fumes, I swear.This week has been rough, princess.  I can’t lie to you about that.  But every day that passes is one day closer to coming home.  The thing I miss most is the smell of you.  Sounds daft, I know, but out here the dust fills your head.  There’s dust and sweat – ‘man’ smells.  But if I concentrate I can smell that perfume you wear all the time.  Funny.Anyway, can’t wait to see you and Mum, tell her I love her and say a prayer every night (a lot of us do that even though we never have before).  Keep the letters coming and send some more chocolate biscuits – the lads loved them.   By the way, that photo you sent has the boys going crazy.  They all want to marry you when they get back!  Ha ha!Love you Sis, now and forever,Andy

Sarah let her hands rest in her lap, the letter held gently between them as though she thought it might fly away. She felt as though her mood before opening it had been trivial. The photograph seemed to have altered subtly, now she knew that the boy with the smile, dressed in his over-sized army gear, was no longer part of the living, breathing universe.  Now, when she looked, she could swear that his eyes held the clue to his own future; that his death had somehow been inevitable, and, feeling this so strongly, she looked at Andy, afraid to see the same dark truth in her brother’s eyes.  But she could not decide, and she didn’t believe she wanted to know, anyway.  It was enough that, of the three soldiers, it had not been Andy who had been hit by the sniper, though the relief she felt was cold and flat because it was at the expense of this young boy’s grieving family, who, perhaps at that very moment, were sitting as she was, holding a different letter and looking at (who knows?) the same photograph.  Usually, Sarah read Andy’s letters again and again; picturing him writing, chewing the end of a biro, wondering what to write, editing the truth.  Today however, she had read with such concentration that she had extracted everything.  This time the letter had been about Jamie, not Andy.  Her brother had simply been a messenger, conveying information and grief.  When she remembered to do so, she sipped her tea, too drained to move, the warmth of the radiator wafting over her and soon she was dozing. 
When she finally opened her eyes it was with a start that sent the remainder of her cold tea over her skirt and onto the carpet.  She cursed and looked at her watch; she was already late for the party.You have to go if the old man invited you.She had no energy to contradict the voice in her head and so she stood and went to the kitchen to get a cloth for the spilled tea.  Then, to the bathroom to wash and finally, to the bedroom to dress.  Less than thirty minutes later, she ran downstairs and out onto the street.  It was cold but she didn’t care.  She didn’t care about anything, really.  Andy was safe.She rode the tube to Kensington and found the hotel.  The receptionist directed her enthusiastically to the Crimson Suite and Sarah gave her invitation to the girl on the door.  It was doubtful whether she was aware of much up until the moment Mr. Firth handed her a glass of champagne and planted a huge kiss on her cheek.  “Didn’t think you were coming.  So glad you did.  Let me introduce my idiot of a son to you:  Stephen, this is Sarah, perhaps she can talk some sense into you.”  Her boss practically shoved the two of them into a corner and left them, going off to join a group of businessmen dressed in suits and doing a very bad job of chatting up one of the hotel waitresses.“Sorry about Father.  He’s a control freak,” the young man said, his face lit by the dimmed wall light.  “You probably already know that, though.”Stephen Firth had an air of boredom about him that was shocking.  He looked around the room as he spoke and then put his head back to drain his full champagne glass.“Want another?”  he asked, not really noticing her.  “Waitress!”  Sarah, still in her new mood, wondered vaguely how long it would be before he acknowledged her.  “Hey! More champagne, for God’s sake!”  A girl came over, carrying a tray, and waited while the young man blinked at the drinks and at her, before taking a glass and waving her away with his other hand.  She took it well, rolling her eyes and going gracefully off to another group of guests.“Nice looking girl,” he said, finally glancing at Sarah.  “You can go if you want to.  Father wants me to talk to you about May.  Says you’ll be able to sort me out.  Like a kind of agony aunt.”  He downed half the glass and finally met her eye.
Stephan Firth was drunk.  Not completely, but a good way along.  His father’s secretary was either stupid or shy.  Either way, it didn’t matter.  She didn’t matter.  He wondered whether she would say anything at all, and the thought of her standing there, not speaking, tickled him.  A small smile played around his mouth and spread to a crinkling at his eyes, then his lips parted and his cheeks rose up so that he beamed at her.“Nice to meet you, Mr. Firth,” said Sarah.  Then, she walked away.