Happy Birthday to me! Have a present because I'm in a good mood. And because I'd like you to read this.

So I told you I like dark back stories! I've even managed to give Mary Poppins a bit of one. I think it fits with her character rather well, but you, of course, may completely disagree.

Unfortunately, Disney has not decided to give me ownership of Mary Poppins. Or of anything, really, except my Mickey ear collection from Disneyland and I had to pay for all of them.


Regardless of her late night, Mary Poppins is up and tidying the nursery before Jane and Michael even think about waking up. When they stir, she's ready. "Well, come on then!" she exclaims. "Out of bed. The sun is up and the day's begun! I won't have you frittering it away in bed. There are errands to be run. Spit spot!"

Jane and Michael both groan as she pulls the curtains back and rub their eyes groggily, but get out of bed nonetheless.

She sees them dressed and fed, then hurries them into their coats. "Come along, children!" she calls merrily as she herds them out the door. She's exhausted from the night before but the world seems brighter than ever.

She pulls out her to-do list as they exit the house. "Now, let's see," she says as she reads. "First of all, we must go to the piano tuners and then we go to Mrs. Corry's shop-"

She's cut off by Michael jumping from the porch. She looks to make sure he's okay, then ignores him when it's clear he is. "Mrs. Corry's shop," she continues, "for some gingerbread... Gingerbread!" She can't help interjecting happily and adding a small hop. My, how this morning is shaping up! "And then we go to the fishmongers, I think, for a nice Dover sole and a pint of prawns." She turns around to look at Michael, who continues to lag behind. "Michael, stop stravaging along behind!"

After a rather entertaining exchange with Admiral Boom, they're on their way, only to be stopped by Andrew. He barks the news of Uncle Albert's illness and Mary immediately begins striding after the dog. The children have to run to keep up with her.

She tries not to show how worried she is when she rings the bell. "Oh, Bert, I'm glad you're here!"

She doesn't know why she's surprised. He's always turned up when she needs him.

Mary rings the doorbell carefully, studying the formidable door in front of her and debating how best to greet the person who answers it. She shifts uncomfortably, dressed in dark, staid clothes rather more suited to a funeral than a homecoming.

The door swings open. "Bert!" she exclaims in surprise. "You're here!"

"I came as soon 'as I 'eard," he explains.

"Oh?"

"Can't 'ave you going through this alone now, can I?" he asks rhetorically. He's always taken such good care of her.

"So then I've-"

He shakes his head sadly. "I'm sorry, Mary Poppins. She's gone."

"Oh. I see."

"Mary Pop-"

She sighs, interrupting whatever he might say, and puts on a brave face. "Well, nothing to be done about it, I suppose." She walks into her childhood home and takes off her coat, hanging it in the coat closet. "I'll get started on the funeral arrangements right away."

"Er, they're…. they've been taken care of," he says sheepishly.

She turns to look at him. "By whom?"

"Well, uh… me."

She frowns. "You planned my mother's funeral?"

"I knew you two didn't exactly get on… I just thought it might be easier for you if you didn't 'ave to do anything…"

She exhales and it almost seems as if she becomes smaller. "Thank you, Bert."

"Only problem is I didn't know what to put for 'er, um, epitaph."

Mary pauses. Most of the phrases of love would be out of place on her mother's grave. Mrs. Poppins had a way about her—a sort of imperious efficiency—that had made her a wonderful wife of a wealthy business man and a wonderful hostess but hardly a suitable mother. Mary's childhood was spent upstairs in the nursery, sent for only on occasion and only when it suited the present company. She didn't mind the sort of show horse treatment until she was old enough to resent it and then she really did resent it. She knew that her mother, while certainly very proud of her only child—a girl who could sing and play arias on the piano by age ten and knew when to be seen and not heard—had no real affection for her. She had had a child because that was simply what was expected and had given really very little thought to raising her until it was time to teach her how to be a lady, and then, when it was clear she wouldn't be the same domineering overlord her mother was—not with the magic she had unfortunately never grown out of as hoped—a governess.

Mary had been very aware the day she had left her home for good that she owed her regal bearing to her mother, her clear thinking to her shrewd business man of a father, and every idea of kindness and compassion she had to the series of nannies and servants that had been engaged to take care of her. While she was grateful to them, she has never quite forgiven her mother for it.

Her mother is buried the day after Mary arrives in London. Instead of putting any descriptive words of loss and mourning, Mary chooses a phrase that is probably out of place on a grave, but her mother's favorite, and—surprisingly—Mary's as well: "A thing of beauty is a joy forever."

She doesn't cry at the funeral and her eyes remain dry while she thanks her way through the wake as people come up to offer their condolences, now that she's an orphan at twenty-three.

Finally all of the guests go home and she collapses into a chair in her father's old study. Bert finds her there, one hand gracefully covering her eyes, shielding them from the light. "You alright?"

"Just a bit of a headache," she admits. "Nothing a good night's sleep won't fix, I'm sure."

"'ave you cried at all, Mary Poppins?" he asks suddenly.

She glares at him. "I didn't cry at my father's funeral and I most certainly will not cry now. I can't stand such a useless behavior."

"It may be useless, but that doesn't mean we don't all need it sometimes. Even you, Mary Poppins."

She sniffs. "I can't see why I would." There's the slightest quiver in her voice. "My mother and I hadn't spoken in nearly five years."

He nods and takes her hand, rubbing the back of it soothingly with his thumb. "I know. But she's still your mother and she's the only one you 'ad."

And with that, Mary Poppins feels the dam break. She cries, not for the loss of her mother really, but for the missed opportunities and for the woman she'd never get the chance to understand. Bert pulls her close and wraps his arms around her, resting his chin on the top of her head and letting her soak his shirt with tears.

"It'll be alright, Mary," he promises quietly. "You'll be alright."

It's the first time he's forgotten her surname. Looking back later, she knows that was the moment she fell hopelessly in love with her best friend.

"I came over the moment I 'eard," he says, letting them into the small house.

"Well, how is he?" she asks anxiously.

"I've never seen 'im as bad as this an' that's the truth." She hurries to the door. "What about them?" he asks, nodding to the children. "It's contagious, you know."

"Shall we get spots?" Jane inquires.

"Oh, highly unlikely," Mary answers curtly as she enters the room where she'll find Uncle Albert. They're good children and can probably manage this. "Oh, Uncle Albert!" she exclaims when she finds him laughing hysterically at a newspaper, floating in midair.

"Bless me!" he grins. "Bless my soul! It's Mary Poppins! I'm delighted to see you, Mary," he giggles.

She gives him a disappointed look. "Uncle Albert, you promised."

"I know," he laughs. "But I tried, really, I did, my dear, I- but I so enjoy laughing you know… And when I start, it's all up with the- I love to laugh- I can't help it, you can see that- I just like laughing, that's all!"

Jane and Michael start laughing and Mary scolds them. "Jane, don't you dare! You'll only make him worse. It's really quite serious!"

"Yes, whatever you do, keep a straight face," Bert continues and Mary's glad for the help. "Last time, it took us three days to get him down."

"Oh, Mary, good, you're 'ere!" Bert says when he opens the door.

She sweeps into the hallway, closing her umbrella. "And where else might I be, may I ask?" She doesn't give him time to answer, her fingers flying to unbutton her coat. "How is he?"

"It's bad this time," he says. "Very bad."

She frowns. "What set him off?"

"I-I think a column in the paper," Bert says with a blush. She thinks he might be lying.

She sighs and opens the door. "Uncle Albert, I thought we agreed that you weren't going to read that silly paper anymore," she scolds.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I really am, but it's just…. It's just… I love it- and you know- I can't stop- it's-" he wheezes.

She can see that he will not be coming down any time soon. "Have you had anything to eat, Uncle Albert?" she asks.

"Not- not since my toast this morning," he chuckles.

She sighs. "I'll fix you supper. Please do work on controlling yourself."

For the next three days, she and Bert work tirelessly, drinking coffee through the night, reading newspapers and wracking their brains for anything that might be sad enough to bring him down. She constantly insists that she can take care of her only living relative if he would like to go, but he insists on staying.

She finally convinces him to take a nap and goes to talk to her uncle. "Uncle Albert, what triggered this onset?" she asks. "It might help if I knew."

"Oh, didn't Bert tell you yet?" Uncle Albert laughs. "He hasn't? Oh my, well, that's just not my place- no, I couldn't- but I was just so happy when- a man should tell- when you're in love it's just-"

Mary feels her heartbeat quicken. Ever since her mother's funeral, she's felt differently about Bert and Uncle Albert's ramblings hint slightly that she might not be the only one with changed feelings. "I beg your pardon?" she asks, trying to stay calm.

"Oh no, I couldn't possibly," Uncle Albert chuckles. "He'll have to tell you himself!"

She sighs and resists the urge to stamp her foot. Then she turns on her heel and walks out of the room, nearly running into Bert as she shuts the door harder than she intended. "Oh, Bert, I'm sorry!"

"Don't worry, Mary," he grins, sounding a bit winded. "I'm stronger than I seem."

"Bert, I… while you're here, I just wanted to say thank you. Not many people would do as much as you do for me. I wanted you to know that I appreciate it. Especially now, with Uncle Albert."

A blush starts to creep up the back of Bert's neck. "Well, 'e's your family, Mary Poppins. And I… I consider you me own family, an' family takes care of each other. An' I'd do anything for you. You know that."

Mary Poppins rarely does anything spontaneous, but perhaps the exhaustion is getting to her for she leans forward and presses her lips softly to his. "Thank you. For everything."

As suddenly as it started, it's over. "Mary, what was that?" he asks, running his fingers over his lips.

"I'm sorry!" she apologizes, becoming aware of what she just did. "I just-"

"No, no!" he replies hurriedly. "Don't apologize. Not for that. Mary, I… I've loved you for years now."

She feels a little faint. "Really?"

"Cross me 'eart."

She smiles. "I… I love you too, Bert. I do." And then she sweeps back into Uncle Albert's sitting room as a wave of inspiration hits her. "Uncle Albert, I must be off."

"Did Bert- did he tell you, Mary?" he asks.

"I'm sure I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about. Bert certainly has no feelings for me nor I for him. And that's the truth," she lies.

"Oh, that's sad. That's really, really sad." She's never seen him fall to the ground faster.

"Bert!" she calls happily. "Bert, he's come down!"

He all but runs into the room. "I knew you could do it, Mary Poppins! But 'ow?"

"That's between Uncle Albert and I," she sniffs. "Now, I really must be leaving."

"You'll… you'll call when you come back to London?" Bert asks nervously.

Her lips curve into a smile. "Certainly. Before I go though, Uncle Albert, I'd like to apologize."

"Apologize, my dear? What for?"

She takes Bert's hand in her own and smiles. "I lied."

You can hardly hear for the uproarious laughter of Uncle Alfred. But Mary and Bert both scramble to hold him down and he stays grounded.

Bert starts to snicker but Mary fixes him with a stare and he stops immediately, looking down sheepishly.

Mary shakes her head disapprovingly as Uncle Albert laughs on the ceiling and everyone else starts to join in. She turns to Bert. "You're no help at all!"

That stops him for all of about five seconds. She begins to tease them about their laughs to get them to stop. Bert decides to join in, only, of course, he can't take anything seriously. "You know, you're as bad as he is," Mary informs him, rolling her eyes up to Uncle Albert.

And soon, Bert is on the ceiling. Mary turns away and shoots him a disapproving glare. This is the man she has fallen in love with… Well, Uncle Albert's particularly joyful problem does run in the Poppins family. No matter that Bert is not technically a Poppins—he is family.

She catches the children the first time they start to float, but doesn't the second time and soon all four of them are laughing up a storm.

"I must say, you're a sight, the lot of you," she comments. They ignore her and Bert tells a joke. "Such behavior!" she scolds. "Why, it's the most disgraceful sight I've ever seen or my name isn't Mary Poppins!"

"Speaking of names, I know a man with a wooden leg named Smith," Bert says.

"What's the name of his other leg?" Uncle Albert asks.

Mary rolls her eyes. Do the jokes have to be terrible too? She pulls out her clock. "Now then children, it's time for tea. I'll not have my schedule interrupted."

"Oh please stay," Uncle Albert begs. "Look, I have a splendid tea all ready for you!"

"And it's getting cold."

"Well, I had hoped that maybe you would-"

Mary raises an eyebrow and the table rises to meet them.

"Splendid! Thank you very much!"

"I knew she could bring it off," Bert comments, a note of pride in his voice. "And a proper tea, it is too!"

"Next thing, I suppose, you'll be wanting me to pour out." She sighs. "Ah well, if I must I must." She raises her eyes to the ceiling and floats up. "If you'll just stop behaving like a pack of laughing hyenas." She bangs her umbrella on the table. That sobers even Bert for a moment.

She tries to lead by example and act dignified but that only works for about ten seconds. She can't get them to calm down until she mentions that it's time to go and that works perfectly to get them down.

Of course, she has to worry about Uncle Albert—these things do tend to upset him so. But she is pleased with the children's manners when they try to cheer him. As she herds them out the door, she turns around. "Keep an eye on Uncle Albert, will you, Bert?"

"I'll sit with 'im awhile," he agrees.

"Thank you," she says as they walk out the door. He's so willing to help her; she only wishes she could do more for him.

As they leave, she hears Bert tell a joke in hopes of cheering Uncle Albert up. She rolls her eyes—it's the worst of the lot. But at least Uncle Albert agrees with her.

"I always say there's nothing like a good joke," Bert says.

"No," Uncle Albert agrees. "And that was nothing like a good joke!"


I know Mary Poppins wasn't actually in the room for that last exchange between Bert and Uncle Albert but I had to include it, since it's pretty much the one line in the whole movie that never fails to make me absolutely crack up. I actually quote it quite frequently. And no one ever understands me, which is really quite frustrating.

As always, I hope you enjoyed!

-Juli-