Holland Road | Mumford & Sons Fan Fiction

Chapter 8

xChapter 8x




January 31, 2003

3:28 P.M.

Mumford Household







New letter, new purpose.




Like most people, every time I check the letterbox and see that there is a letter addressed to me, I get really excited. However, unlike most people, I have letters from Carey Mulligan addressed to me. I think that calls for less excitement and more jubilation.




Not going to lie, I sometimes forget I'm actually doing this pen pal thing for a grade. Carey's letters are the best. I'm actually starting to think she and I are sort of friends in a way. Well maybe it's one sided; I really don't know. It's just nice to have someone to whom I can tell my problems.




Envelope in hand, I walk through my front door and start begin to walk up the stairs to my room.




"Marcus?" a woman's voice calls from behind.




I turn on my heel on the third step and shout, "Yeah, Mum?"




"Could you come here for just a moment?" she replies.




She couldn't possibly be mad at me again, could she? I mean, I don't think I've done anything terribly wrong since the night I snuck out. For the past week and a half I've been walking on eggshells around my parents.




I make my way towards my mother, caution in my every step. She's sitting at our small kitchen table, newspaper in-hand. After taking a sip of her tea, she looks up at my over the wire-rimmed glasses stationed at the tip of her nose. "Sorry about the short notice, but there is a church retreat next weekend that I signed you up for."




Classic mum always waiting until the last minute to tell me things. "I mean it's not like I have any other plans." I admit, but of course she knew that already. The grounded life is painful.




"Alright, sounds good," she says and gives me a weak smile that doesn't reach her eyes. I don't ask anymore about it because frankly I don't care. I've been to so many of these church retreats that I know exactly how they run, without a doubt. The first night the group leaders are all gung-ho about "ridding today's adolescents of their wild and non-Christian ways" and drill our heads off with the importance of going to church and reading the bible. Then by the second night some girl and guy go missing in the middle of the night and come back in the morning with herpes. By then the leaders are tired of telling us we are going to hell if we don't pray every day and us kids are just ready to not have to sleep in the same room as the kid who smells like cheese.




It happens that way literally every single time.




I nod to my mother and return to what I was going to do previously. Once in my room, I immediately tear open Carey's letter. Pulling out its contents, a small piece of paper falls to the floor. I reach down to pick it up and instantly feel that one side is papery and the other slide is cool and glossy on my finger tips. I turn the item over and my breath catches in my throat.