DAY 21: JA Low | 25 Days of Christmas

On the twenty-first day of 25 Days of Christmas, JA Low gave a sneak peek into the first chapter of her book Fate's Plan, a standalone novella!

LILY 

           It’s been years since I’ve seen snow; fluffy white flecks fall to the ground in front of my car, creating a blanket of white on everything it touches. The rock walls that line the narrow, winding, country roads. The farmers’ cottages that dot the usually emerald green hills now blend into stark white countryside, the swirling smoke from their chimneys the only way to see where each one is. Not much daylight filters through during these winter months, the last rays set over the area’s famous mountains “The Three Sisters of Glencoe” nestled in the tourist trail of the Scottish Highlands. My sister and I explored these mountains as children, running through the green fields, picking thistles and field flowers for Nan. Jumping through streams that cut into the land from the snowy peaks surrounding us, freezing your toes if you slipped and fell in. Our summers were spent helping around the farm; we fed the sheep, milked the cows and goats, picked up the eggs from the chicken coop. Scottie, Nan’s Scottish Terrier, would chase the chickens around the yard every time we would collect the eggs. It would have us in fits of giggles watching the feathers fly. A tear falls down my cheek remembering the old days, it’s been awhile since things have felt happy around here, it hasn’t been the same since Nan died. We loved visiting her every school holiday, enjoying our freedom, a far cry from the hustle and bustle of London where we normally resided. Our parents were world-renowned surgeons, working for London’s elite at their famous Harley Street practice. Because of their dedication to medicine and pretty much everyone else, they didn’t have much time for us. Luckily, when we weren’t with Nan, we had an eccentric Italian nanny called Contessa. She wore bright, vibrant colors. She was a loud, passionate woman who taught us to cook and speak Italian, she immersed us into her culture, one that we still love to this day. She was obsessed with the British royal family, loved everything about it, so much so that she would wear a crown. She thought because her name means Countess in Italian, that she must have been switched at birth and actually been royal. She used to have us in fits of laughter with her made up tales of royal life. A sad smile falls across my weary face, remembering her. It was a shock when she passed at a young age; she may be gone, but never forgotten. I wipe the errant tears from my sleep-deprived eyes. 

        “Oh, shit,” I scream, as the car skids across the road in the icy conditions. My heart is racing a hundred miles an hour, my adrenaline has gone into overdrive. I’ve been stuck in the African desert for far too long, I’ve forgotten how to drive in these treacherous conditions.
        Thankfully, I rented a Range Rover 4WD so it will keep me safe in these hazardous conditions. If I had gone with the little hatchback the clerk was trying to push onto me, I would have ended up in some snowy ditch somewhere, then I would have to call Broden, the local mechanic, to come rescue me, which means Seonaid, his wife, would hear about my return to Glencoe by myself, and by morning the whole village would know and I would be getting sticky beaks popping in all day. If Broden had to tow me, I don’t think I would be able to show my face again in the pub. Wallace would make sure that nobody forgot the time Lilly ran off the road and needed help. They have long memories here; it would keep them entertained for years. 

        The snow’s falling heavier now, my car’s lights are the only stream of light stretching across the vast, dark, emptiness. A solitary beacon, winding its way through the valley’s treacherous bends. I slow down as I enter the village, which is quiet for this time of night, and with the weather closing in. The light on in the village is the pub, which never shuts. Wallace would never dare shut his doors to his fellow villagers. His family has owned this pub for two hundred years, something like that, and the doors have never been closed, not even when the English invaded. But I’m not really sure if the English ever got this far, it’s hard to tell when they are pulling your leg, the gullible victims. I pass the pub, which means I am not far from the cottage. Finally, home. Oh, how I’ve missed you, nearly two years away, longer when you count University, and my residence in London. I can’t wait to surprise my sister, Lauren. She was devastated when I told her I couldn’t get Christmas off this year. For sisters, we are pretty close. I think it’s because Mum and Dad were never around so we only had each other. But, little does she know that I was able to switch contracts with one of the other doctors, who had fallen in love with one of the peace keepers. She couldn’t extend her contract and, lucky for her, I still had six months left on mine, viola, contracts changed and I was on the next plane out of there. It’s funny how determined you are to not follow in your parents’ footsteps and here you are, years later, traveling in the exact same shoes. I decided not to pursue becoming a specialist like them, I wanted to use my skills to help people who really needed it. I wanted to make a difference. Well, that didn’t go over too well in our household.
  “No daughter of mine is going to Africa to work, she wasn't brought up like that.” Those were my father’s words when I told him I said no to a prestigious private hospital who offered me a very high paying job. I decided to follow love and accompany my fiancé to Africa, develop our life skills. In the end, that didn’t work out so well for me. 

                                                                     * 

      I wind my way up the long driveway to the cottage. It’s pitch black all around, tiny specks of light glow from the houses that dot the inky black surrounds. White smoke bellows out of the cottage’s chimney, twisting its way into the night sky. Oh, how I’ve missed the smell of a good fireplace. The smoky, woodsy scent of it, the crackling of the logs as they burn, nights spent sipping hot cocoa in front of its warmth, reading a good book in your flannel pajamas. Scottie curled up on his mat in front of it, snoring away; Nan, knitting us beanies and mittens, like she did every single year. My heart is bursting with excitement; I can’t wait to do all those things with my sister this year. But secretly, I’m looking forward to a soft bed, comfy pillows and a huge, snuggly duvet. 

        Finally, here, I jump out of the car, quickly grab my bag. I only have the one, don’t need much when you live in an African refugee camp and wear scrubs all day. The cold air stings my face, shocking me. I’ve forgotten how cold winter is up here. Making a mad dash to the front door with my head down, protecting it from the howling wind. I turn the knob, knowing out here no one locks their doors, and push through. Instant warmth hits me, as I shake off the remnants of the frost from my coat. I drop my bag on the wooden floor of the foyer, then hang up my winter jacket onto the hook. Rubbing my hands together, my skin comes back to life, feeling has returned to my fingers. I close my eyes and take in the smell of the log fire, the smoke tickling my nose. I inhale, taking me back to a time when time wasn’t so damn complicated. My eyes open and I expect to see Lauren rush out and greet me. 

       What I wasn’t expecting was him. “Who the hell are you?” I ask, staring at the naked man standing in the middle of my cottage.

FOLLOW JA LOW 

Facebook ★ Instagram ★ Website ★ Amazon