It was after Mary Poppins returned. After she'd fixed the Bankses and saved Michael and after Jack had gone with Jane to her rally.
He and Jane were grown-up now, and thanks to Mary Poppins, they had re-learned one another since their childhood days. It had been years since they'd been friends, or seen one another nightly, because when Jane got older she moved out of Number Seventeen while Michael became Mr. Banks, lord of the household. Then Mary Poppins flew back and put it all the way it was supposed to be again, and the three of them—Jane and Michael and Jack—felt like children again, as if not a day had passed since she had last been there, and this was just her holiday from them.
The real difference was the amount of time spent together without a balcony or a nanny between them. Jack was still very much spellbound by the girl with the giggle, and Jane could be heard humming little leerie songs every second Tuesday evening, when the day was done. Second Tuesdays were the days she and Jack had arranged to meet weekly. Sometimes they would go to the park and eat sweets together. Sometimes they went to the zoo. Sometimes they sat outside Jane's house, on the roof, and watched the people below. Sometimes Jack joined Jane in whatever work she had to do that day with the union, hands in his pockets, following her and lifting heavy things when they needed lifting.
Whatever they were doing, they were very content in one another's company. Whole hours might go by without either person uttering a word to the other, but they would glance over and smile and onlookers would see that they didn't need to talk to fill the time. They just liked having one another nearby. Jane's niece and nephews seemed to find this behavior familiar, and their newest ambition was to properly name the nature of the relationship they observed.
Georgie asked her one evening while she was brushing her teeth, the children waiting for Michael to come home, "Is Jack your best mate, Auntie Jane?"
"Oh!" Aunt Jane had, as always, laughed, but she held the towel for him more tightly. The question seemed to make her nervous and pleased at the same time. "Well, I must say I think your father is my best mate."
"Even if he wasn't—Jack can't be her best mate, Georgie," Annabel had told her brother condescendingly, twirling in her nightie in the hall.
"Why not?"
John was combing his hair in the doorway. His tone was very adult, very matter-of-fact. He sounded like a schoolteacher as he explained to the youngest: "Because you can't be best mates and be husband and wife."
Georgie's mouth drew up in childlike disgust, the exact face he made when Ellen tried to feed them their medicine on rainy nights.
Jane dropped the towel, suddenly out of breath. "John—why, I—now, look here…"
"They aren't husband and wife, John," Annabel cut in scornfully.
The look of someone drinking a large glass of long-awaited water passed over their aunt's face at this. Jane began refolding the towel with white knuckles. "Yes, that's right, darling—"
"They're courting," little Miss Banks went on, and the towel flopped to the ground again.
"What's courting?"
"It's what you do when you're getting ready to be married."
"Are you marrying Jack, Aunt Jane?" Georgie's mouth dropped open. "But he hasn't got a suit! Doesn't he need a suit, John?"
"He can borrow one of Father's."
"Oh yes, if we ask him—"
"Children!" Jane set the poor towel down on the edge of the basin and blinked a lot. "Children, our friend Jack and I are not courting!"
"But you took his balloon," Annabel pointed out, confusion making her nose wrinkle. "At the fair?"
"Well, firstly, Annabel, it was my balloon—"
"No, Auntie, Jack brought it to you and you flew up together, don't you remember?" Georgie tugged on her sleeve.
"Ye-yes, of course, but—you needn't think that means—" Jane shoved a few stray golden locks behind an ear. "And secondly, John, you positively can be best mates and married. Isn't that what your mother and father were?"
"Then you are courting, Aunt." Anabelle shot her what was surely meant to be a reassuring, calming smile, but at her age it just looked like a sleepy one. "It's all arranged, isn't it? You're already both. You've got the balloon and—and Tuesdays and everything."
"You're engaged!" John informed her triumphantly.
Delighted to have settled it, the girl and her brothers began to get very excited.
"Can we call him Uncle Jack?" Georgie begged.
"He should come and live with you," John suggested.
"Oh, but that's not very—very convenient," Anabelle surmised, the importance of practicality written all over a face very like Mary Poppins'. "Then he'd have to live all the way on the other side of town!"
For some reason, Aunt Jane was looking horribly flushed as they bounded around her, and the children—even the thoughtful two eldest—could not think what they had said to make her seem so disheveled. As soon as they noticed her rosy cheeks and gaping mouth, they stopped and stared. Concern was painted all over their little faces.
"Aunt Jane," Georgie diagnosed, "have you turned turtle?"
"No," Jane gulped, "no, Georgie, I have not turned turtle, I'm perfectly well, thank you. Darlings," she added, dropping into a crouch so that she could better look them in the eye, "Jack is a—a lovely man and I am very fond of him. Just like you are. But we haven't been courting, and you mustn't tell him we are—"
"Is it a secret?"
"No," giggled Jane after a moment, shoulders relaxing. "But I do think he would be rather confused, and we want him to feel comfortable here, don't we? After all, he's the best leerie we've got on this street."
Solemn nodding.
"No more talk of courting—" Jane's mouth twitched desperately, and Annabel in particular recognized a caged smile, "—or marrying or my balloon. Jack is a jolly good friend to me, and I should like to keep my friend. Does that sound sensible enough?"
Exuberant nodding.
"Very good, then."