LifeQuest

1. Week 11

1. Set your story in a remote winter cabin with no electricity, internet, or phone service.

Fran was a sensible girl, not generally known for flights of fancy. Francis, or “Francis-Bread-And-Jam” as her mother lovingly called her, found an early love of stories in these books. In fact, she wasn’t a bad writer; won lots of awards and even scholarships in High School.  But, alas, she got a sensible job in a sensible office, and writing took a back burner. Until Fran reached an age where she felt if she didn’t get away and explore life a bit and try out her God-given talent, she would regret it if fhe waited any longer. That catalyst, and a world-wide event, brought this down to earth girl far outside her comfort zone…

In her 20’s, Fran had dated and been engaged to a much older man in his 40’s. He had actually moved to Scotland before they met to be a writer, but instead upon moving and all the rain, became an alcoholic instead! He said there was nothing to do but walk around the loch and stay inside and drink. Still, he did have a flair for language, and thought Fran had a talent for writing. After years of proofreading illiterate bosses' drafts, she was sick of not being able to move up the ladder of life while imbeciles got to the top. She always loved this romantic notion of moving abroad for a year and banging out a novel, even with that heady warning. She was middle aged and felt she had nothing left to lose. Worse came to worse, she could come back with egg on her face, but she would have at least tried. 

Fran was frugal and a saver, but she had never made a lot of money to begin with. Still, she had money in the bank, but wasn’t sure how much supporting herself would cost abroad, but she was certain it was a lot. To be on the safe side, she thought she would look into getting a job there; nothing too stressful, maybe a receptionist. Much to her surprise, Fran found a job immediately as a receptionist of a resort, in Portsonachan Scotland, near Fort William. She was thrilled! The place was to include lodging, so that would save money, and she could write in the evenings. The manager’s strong Scottish brogue was indiscernible, and Fran had a hard time understanding details when she tried to pin him down. He knew Americans’ had good customer service skills, and he wanted her to join. However, the things she could not understand would be her downfall…

The resort seemed charming enough, once you got past all the plain and tweed. There was a nice reception, a formal dining room, and little cabins like condos. It was charming and very quiet during the off-season. A pleasant enough girl met Fran and trained her, but immediately warned her about what was really going on. Even on that first weekend of training, the police showed up, after there had been a raid! Then the power went out, as they hadn’t paid the bills! Fran kept trying to nail down her boss with the brogue, but he disappeared sometime between these latest issues. 

At first, Fran was put up in a lovely split-level condo on the loch. It had a nice kitchen and Fran had brought food and supplies to cook. But soon she found out that this was not to be her free residence. They wanted her to stay with the men in a lodge; the same men that had gotten drunk and caused the problems the police were on them about. The plaid carpet was covered in vomit, there was no furniture and smashed beer bottles all around; there was no way Fran was staying there! She would have been nothing but a play toy and maid for these men, and being this remote it was dangerous! With the police closing the place as well as the power being out, she had to act fast…

Clearly, this job wasn’t what she thought it was meant to be. She had given up her apartment and brought her life savings here to be a writer; not a concubine for a bunch of drunken Scotsmen. She had to act fast. Fran was one to make friends quickly, so she asked the girl who trained her and some of her friends to get her somewhere safe. The men would stay there during the closure, and she had to get someplace safely. They made a plan; there was a fishing cabin nearby, which had been used by groundskeepers or was rented out separately. It was on the other side of the loch. To say it was rustic was an understatement; it had no electricity, a gas burner and stove, no wifi and a well. To get there, they smuggle Fran under a tartan blanket, so no one would see her leave.  As it was winter, no one would be coming and going to the resort much, and no one was using the cabin. Since Fran had learned to do check-ins, she simply became the one to occupy this cabin, paid and no one would be the wiser. She had to above all, be under the radar so no one knew she was there. The weather was bad, she would have to hunker down for winter. This place would either inspire her or break her during the bleak winter. 

At first it was hard to make out the cabin in the dim light. Her newfound friends taught her how to light the gas lights and stove. She had the common sense to bring some extra blankets and pans along with her own cooking supplies, knowing she could always return them to the resort when she was done with them. After all, she was a paying guest, albeit cheap, and the men that worked there were staying the winter for free, so it wasn’t like she was cheating them out of anything. She was glad she brought extra things. From what her eyes could see, there were ugly tartan curtains, and inside was pretty bare-boned. There was a decent sized cooking area, a small sitting area, and a sleeping area behind a heavy curtain. There was a toilet and tub, but no hot water, so that would have to be boiled for baths and cleaning. This was in no way the Ritz! But it had a deck that faced the loch, and was in no direct view of the resort so as long as she kept a low profile, no one would know she was here. Generally, there were two boats on the loch; one to rent and one for emergencies is how it was explained to her. If someone came by boat, she might be discovered, but she doubted anyone would want to go fishing in this weather. The place was dusty and bareboned, but not in too bad a nick. She found a broom and dustpan and went to work cleaning…

Much to her surprise, Fran slept like a log. She decided to go exploring the next day. Her new friends told her there was a small village about a mile the other direction. Small was the operative word; there was a shop, a pub and a hairdresser, along with modest homes. That was her only link to society. After a hot breakfast of bacon and toast, she made her way to the village. She figured her people skills would help her. She would make friends, write, come out of this wiser and more clever. Or so she thought…

She met the village shopkeep, a Turkish lad called Salak, which translated in Turkish, meant ‘idiot’. He was anything but...actually he was bright as a bulb, loved to work out and adored anything American. Little did Fran know, but Salak was to become the only human contact she would have for months. But for now, she seemed determined to acclimate to her surroundings. She was bundled up in a Mac and wellies she found on the back porch of the cabin, with loads of layers on under. She bought fresh farm eggs, meat, veg and such from local farmers, and staples like pasta and rice...she loved to cook and it could be inspirational for her writing. Coffee and wine loaded her down, and she realized she would have to come often because she couldn’t carry that much. She saw the pub on the way back, and vowed to look a little smarter and come on a Saturday night, maybe meet the locals. She was determined to make this work.

Fran had brought her laptop and American phone, assuming like many Anerican’s they would work anywhere. Right? Well, not so much in remote places! She tried to piggy back her wifi onto the resort’s, but it was too far. She knew the internet was paid, since she was checking people in, even if the power was out. So, to do her writing, she would draft chapters in Word, not be able to spell check, and sneak over to the reception area and squat until she caught a ray of wifi, and email to herself. It was a brilliant and yet pathetic idea. She wrote each day that week, went over early when she figured the men were hungover, and catch a beam of wifi to email the chapters to herself and save the drafts. It soon became obvious that this wasn’t easy, and could require squatting below the window for 30-45 minutes until she got a ‘send’ signal, and her laptop would chime and she could save it. Everyday, rain or rain shine, she did that. On weekends, she could go to the pub, be able to connect with friends and family, meet people, recharge her batteries literally and figuratively, and do more writing. It was crude, but fine. So, she got to be quite the weekend lass at the pubs; the men flirted as they loved her accent, she had orange squash while she was working until she could deem having a gin and tonic, but not too much with the long walk home with only a torch for company. She got pretty used to the footpath and this became a routine, for a while…

...Then the pandemic happened! The pub and hairdresser had to shut, and Fran had only the village shop and Salak to keep her company. The government allowed you to walk, that was all, so walk she did. She found she tried to get to other areas but just got lost. So she headed to the village daily, to get supplies. For a while, she would send pictures in messenger and emails to friends and family by sitting close to the pub, but pretty soon she saw a ‘for lease’ sign on the pub as the owners quickly gave up. That meant any social life with people here or back home ended. She could send the odd one line email back to family as she emailed her writing back to herself, but she started to worry if people were OK. She took to writing old-fashioned letters, which took weeks to arrive, but it was better than nothing. Salak, who was young enough to be her son, got to be like an old married couple, knowing what spirits Fran would get, sharing recipes, exercise routines, etc. He ordered a lot of American fitness equipment and watched their shows. He worried about her when she said she had no wifi, but his boss wouldn’t let him share theirs. It wasn’t like Fran could have the internet installed at the cabin! She couldn’t order things from Amazon without being discovered, plus there wasn’t a proper road at the cabin. So, she kept with her method of squat-and-send emails. 

Spring came round, which meant more rain in Scotland. The resort had fishermen as guests, who weren’t picky about amenities. They rented a few of the condo cabins and stayed for periods of time. By now, Fran had written a fair amount of her book, learned new recipes, was an expert at heating up water and washing her hair in the sink. The place looked pretty spruced up, with candles from the village shop and fresh heather in jars she saved. Every day she would get up, make herself a decent breakfast and coffee, meditate on the yoga mat she brought, go outside for a walk around the loch or the woods and head into the village. Salak did let her charge her laptop or her portable charger; that he could do. Then she would write in the afternoon while there still was light; it was a good routine. 

One rare day in April, it wasn’t so rainy. The sun was out and the birds were singing. Fra decided to move her yoga mat outside to meditate and get in a few sun salutations before her morning sabbatical. But on this day, she was not alone. An English fisherman, there on holiday with his mates, saw Fran. She was so used to being alone, she felt uninhibited as she did her stretches, breathing deeply. He was beguiled; her lack of care how she looked with no make-up and ponytail as she went about her routine. Suddenly, a fish bit his line, so the noise startled Fran out of her trance thinking she was alone. “Ahoy there”, said Glen, knowing he had been staring all this time. His boat had been silently sitting there in the sun. Fran was startled, but came closer to talk. “Are you staying at the resort? I thought they had no power?” she asked. Glen said they had a generator, and he and his mates got a discount as they just wanted to fish in peace and quiet, so it was fine with them. They chatted for a while, and she asked him if he would like some coffee. He said yes, and they talked for what seemed ages. He asked if he could see her again. She suggested a picnic, since she was getting pretty good at new recipes and had been cooking from scratch. He said he would be delighted. The weather forecast was good, so they made plans for the next day, when hopefully things would dry out.

The week they spent together was magical. Fran knew that the resort would open properly soon, and she couldn’t just stay. She had paid rent until May, knowing summer guests would arrive. Her book was nearly finished. The fisherman said he lived in Yorkshire, not far from Rotherham. There were jobs and things like wifi and electricity there, he assured her! Fran hadn’t spent much of her money, only paying £100 a month for the cabin, as that was the last price it was listed at. She wanted to get to know this fisherman better, but not jump in too soon; that had backfired on her in the past. Glen helped her find a short term rental, and she finished her book. They got to know each other better, and when her lease was up, she moved in with him. Finally able to do edits properly with an internet connection, Fran was able to send her book out to publishers, and got welcome responses. It wasn’t how she had planned, renting a place for a year to write, but the move was positive. At first, she had no idea what the book would be about, but in the end she called it ‘LifeQuest; How I Found The Love Of My Life Rural Scotland’. And they lived happily ever after...The End.