Bert was exhausted. He knew the other sweeps would give him a hard time if he admitted this, they seemed to believe that being nineteen meant he should have some extraordinary wealth of energy, when this simply was not true.
"Oi, I think I dropped me pocketwatch on that last roof. Go on without me fellas, I'll catch up soon enough," he said, proud of this convincing lie.
He quickly made his way back onto the other roof and flopped down behind the chimney.
"I'll just shut me eyes for a minute and I'll be right as rain," he said to himself.
A moment later his eyes shot open as he heard a soft thump, followed by a small "Oof!"
He blinked. Before him was a girl about his age, lying flat on her back. It was as if she had fallen from the sky.
He blinked a few more times, and pinched his forearm. She was still there. He hoisted himself up, and slowly walked up to her. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hair was black and shiny like onyx, and her eyes were the brightest blue he had ever seen. He stared at her in wonder for several moments before she spoke.
"I don't suppose you'd like to help me up?" she asked, extending a lily-white hand.
Dumbfounded, he extended a sooty hand and helped lift her to her feet.
"Thank you so much," she said, smiling warmly. "Now, I don't suppose you could tell me where I am?"
"Cherry Tree Lane," Bert said, regaining what little composure he had.
She looked at him quizzically. "Ah, where is Cherry Tree Lane exactly?"
"London."
She still looked puzzled.
"England?" he offered, although her accent was decidedly British.
"Oh dear!" she exclaimed. "What have you done!" she cried.
"I-I'm not sure," Bert stuttered. "What have I done?"
"No, not you. Him," she said, pointing to her umbrella, which lay at her feet.
"Ah. I understand," Bert said, although he did not understand at all.
She smiled at him again, and his stomach did a somersault.
"I don't know where my manners are," she exclaimed. "I'm Mary, Mary Poppins."
"Bert," he said sheepishly, extending his sooty hand to her once again. She shook it, and seemed to not even notice when her own hand became blackened with ash.
"Tell me Bert, are you any good at fixing things?"
He nodded violently. "Oh yes Miss Poppins, very good." He wasn't. If she had asked him at that moment if he was any good at jumping off tall buildings he gladly would have given a demonstration.
She blushed. "Just Mary, none of that Miss Poppins stuff. Have you ever fixed an umbrella?"
"No, but I'd be glad to give it me best," he quickly answered.
She picked up her umbrella daintily and handed it to him. "We hit some rough winds somewhere over Portugal, and you know how that goes," she rolled her eyes.
This girl is completely mad, Bert thought as he nodded, once again feigning understanding. He began examining the umbrella.
"Ah, here's your problem," he said, twisting one of the spines back into place. "A bit of jiggery-pokery here and it should be right as –Oi!" he hollered. The head of her umbrella, which was shaped like a parrot, had latched its beak onto Bert's hand and wouldn't let go.
"Mercy! " Mary exclaimed. "Now is that any way to behave? This nice man was just trying to help you."
The parrot spat Bert's hand out. "That jiggery-pokery stuff hurts!" it said bitterly.
"So does freefalling onto a London rooftop, but you don't see me biting anyone," Mary said stiffly, pinning the bird's beak closed with one hand.
"I'm terribly sorry about that. Let me see," she extended her other hand towards him.
"It's nothing, really," he assured her, although it was quite painful.
"Please?" she asked. Her eyes were an unbelievable shade of blue. Bert extended his bleeding hand.
"Oh-oh," she cooed. She ran her hand over the bite, and it vanished before Bert's eyes. His jaw dropped. She giggled.
And enormous gust of wind hit the pair, knocking them both back a bit.
"There it is!" she cried excitedly, twisting her umbrella open.
"Wait, where are you going?" he asked.
"Istanbul!" she yelled over the roar of the wind. "Goodbye Bert," she said more quietly, kissing him on the cheek.
He watched as her umbrella caught the wind and lifted her off the ground. He watched her soar higher and higher until he could no longer see her. He rubbed at his cheek in wonder, then slowly began to walk in the direction that the other sweeps had gone, singing to himself. He did not recognize the song, but it felt soft and sweet on his lips. "When Mary holds your hand, you feel so grand, your heart starts beating like a big brass band."