The wind was especially unrelenting today, Bert observed as he made his way to the park. Humming a song, he set to work, beginning to draw a lovely meadow. Not unlike the one he had first visited with Mary Poppins.
Mary Poppins. She was on his mind a lot as of late. She hadn't been back in a few years if he could recall correctly. He knew she'd return, it was just a matter of time.
He heard her first, the sound of her sensible boots on the pavement, and the jingle of a new coin being deposited in his cap.
He saw her next, her silhouette outlined in shadow against the now sunny sidewalk.
"'Ello Mary." He said, looking behind him, standing up and dusting off his trousers.
"Hello Bert." She replied, a brief smile gracing her cherry-red lips.
"Wot are you doing 'ere without your latest charges?" He asked, searching for children, giving up after a few minutes, seeing that Mary was trying her hardest not to smile.
"I'm in between assignments Bert. I don't need to be at my next post for oh, an hour or so."
"Where is your next post then?" He asked, as they had started to walk arm in arm around the park, his chalk forgotten.
"Number 17 Cherry Tree Lane." Mary answered primly.
"Jane an' Michael Banks." He supplied.
"You know them?" She asked, halting their walk to turn and face him.
"Seen 'em flyin' a kite 'round these parts." He shrugged, not failing to notice her sapphire colored eyes boring a hole into him.
"Interesting." She commented, her gaze never wavering as she reached up to adjust his shirt collar. He wrung his hands together, mildly uncomfortable with this turn of events.
Mary gently placed a satin-gloved hand on top of Bert's calloused one, stilling his movements.
"Relax Bert. It's just me." She said quietly, studying her friend's nervous facial expression.
"That's the thing Mary, it's you." He responded, not really realizing what his words until he'd said them.
"Whatever do you mean?" She questioned, tilting her head sideways as if it could help her figure him out.
"It's nothin' Mary." He sighed, mentally preparing himself for what was to follow.
"It is most certainly not nothing Herbert Alfred. Do explain yourself. I don't have all day."
"Well-" He started, unsure if how to proceed. How could he tell his best friend that he was in love with her? He couldn't. She would never understand. Practically perfect people never permit sentiment to muddle their thinking, after all.
"Well? I'm waiting." Mary said, tapping her sensible shoe against the ground impatiently.
He sighed, intertwining his hands behind his back. "Yer not gonna like it Mar."
"So?" She prompted, placing a gloved hand under his chin so he'd look at her.
"I-I love you?" He said, more of a question than a statement.
She stared at him, all had gone quiet, save the occasional chirp of a bird.
"Please say somethin' Mary." He said quietly.
"You know I have my duties, and the children. They need me Bert."
"I wasn't askin' y' ta give that up. I was askin' fer yer days off is all." He said, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck.
"Well, It'd be awfully selfish of me not to give them to you wouldn't it?" Mary said, directing a melancholy smile in his direction.
She checked her pocket-watch. "I'm afraid I must be going. I'll see you here with the children once I'm settled." She bent down to pick up her discarded carpet bag and parrot umbrella.
"Wait a minute." Bert said as she started to walk away.
"Yes?" Mary inquired, turning to face her best and oldest friend.
"Are practically perfect people allowed t' make exceptions?"
"Since when do I explain anything?" She huffed, her dainty hands tightening around the handle of her carpetbag.
"'S true. I was jus' curious that's all."
She sighed, setting down her things as she readjusted her flower and cherry adorned hat. "You know I wish things could be different Bert."
"We'll have our days off." He said with a lopsided grin, tipping his newsboy cap.
"Certainly. Au revoir Bert." Mary Poppins said, a twinkle in her eye as she started to head to her post.
"I'll be seein' ya Mary Poppins." He said with a wave, whistling a familiar tune as he ambled back to his drawings.