Chapter Text
This was the opposite of precision and order.
“What is this? What is all this?” Mr. George Banks demanded, turning around as he took in the chaos filling his parlor. Soot dusted the floors and the cabinets as the chimney sweeps danced in the filth they’d brought to 17 Cherry Tree Lane.
“Special delivery for George Banks, esquire.” A letter is passed to George, but he doesn’t get the chance to inspect it.
“Time to go now! Goodnight, guv’nor.” The most disruptive of the sweeps took George’s hand in
his, giving it a firm shake. A mess of blonde curls came to light as he removed his hat to give a theatrical bow to the man.
“Goodnight, guv’nor, step in time!” The sweeps sang as they lined up, each shaking George’s hand before retreating out the door.
“Cheerio, guv’nor.” The shortest of the sweeps takes George’s hand, and it takes George a moment too long to recognize his own son.
“Not so fast.” He stopped Micheal before he could follow the other men. “Upstairs, now. Jane, you too.” He glared at his daughter. “Mary Poppins, would you be good enough to explain?” The children cowered behind the peculiar nanny, and Mary Poppins squared her shoulders before responding.
“First of all, I would like to make one thing clear.”
“Yes?” George gave an attempt to make himself taller, glowering at the woman who dared to cross him in his own home.
“I never explain anything.” She said promptly. “Come along, children.” George watched in utter shock as Mary led the children up the staircase.
In his solitude, George is finally granted the time to consider the letter in his hands. He stares at it for a moment, not looking up when his wife enters the room.
“It’s happened. The Chairman wants to see me at the close of business tonight.”
“Tonight!” Winifred’s brow furrows in worry. “Well, I’m going to come with you and jolly well give your Chairman a piece of my mind.”
Bert, standing unnoticed across the room, watches carefully as George interacts with his wife. This was the first time he really got a good look at the infamous father of Jane and Micheal Banks, and he’s not entirely surprised by anything he sees. Although, he hadn’t expected George to have a deep uncertainty in his dark chocolate eyes. His messy dark hair seemed to be the only part of George’s life that wasn’t in perfect order. It isn’t until the vase in George’s hands crashes to the ground that Bert is taken out of his thoughts. Winifred exits the room in a nervous rush as she joins a conversation between Mary and Mrs Brill in the room over, but George stands statue still, gazing down inquisitively at the broken pieces.
“Well, I never. So that’s where I put them.” George bends down and picks up a small shining star.
“What are they?” Bert finally speaks, taking a cautious step toward the man. George stands up again, reverting to his performative posture as he realizes he isn’t alone.
“Stars.” George speaks quietly, staring at the lone sweep for a moment too long. He clears his throat before speaking again, “Gingerbread stars I hid once from my nanny. I always knew I’d put them somewhere no one would find them. Trouble was I couldn’t find them either.”
“They’re very bright.” Bert offers a crooked smile, which George only returns with the faraway glint in his eyes.
“Aren’t they? Even after all this time.” He looks back down at the star in his hand, reminiscing for the first time in well over a decade. The two men stand in silence for a moment longer, George’s gaze fixed on the star while Bert continues to mentally dissect the man he’d heard so much about.
“Uh.. here, let me give you a hand.” Bert stammers awkwardly as he realizes he had been staring. He crouches down to pick up the shards of vase while George gathers the stars.
“I used to dream that when I’d grow up I’d know everything there was to know about the stars.” George speaks again once the floor is cleared. He pauses, considering his own sentimental thoughts. “Funny. I haven’t thought about all that in years. I’m not usually sentimental.”
“S’good to look back sometimes.” Bert remarks with a shrug, leaning nonchalantly against the wall as he continues to study the features of Mr. George Banks.
“Is it? I’m not so sure.”
“Life’s a rum go, guv’nor. And that’s the truth.”
“You know, the moment Mary Poppins stepped into this house, things began to happen to me” George states, casting an accusatory glance in Bert’s direction. “She’s ruined the order of my life with her chaos. My life’s ambitions are all being cast away. It’s a bitter pill to take.”
“I happen to know the very woman. And what is it she always says?” Bert pretends to think for a moment, a sly smile playing on his lips. “A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.” He sings in a pitchy falsetto, and George fights back the smile that begins to show on his face.
“A healthy helping of trouble if you ask me!” He retorts.
“Like you say, guv’nor. You’ve got to grind, grind, grind, on that grindstone. Let childhood slip by, and all that.” He brushes the pieces of the vase into the rubbish bin, playfully mocking the stoic expression usually found on George’s face. “Your children will grow, eventually. It’ll be too late for you to give ‘em that spoonful of sugar.” He turns his head to see Mary at the top of the stairs with Jane and Micheal, hesitant to interrupt the conversation. “Well, good luck, guv’nor.” Bert holds his hand out to George. George stares down at the soot covered palm, hesitating before shaking it firmly. He seems to consider what Bert said for a moment.
“Thank you, Bert.” George’s voice comes out softer than before. “And good luck to you, too.”