EPILOGUE

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A/N: This is then end! A big THANK YOU to all my readers and reviewers - I hope you enjoy this last bit!

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It had been a very pleasant three years, thought Mary to herself as she walked into the nursery, very pleasant indeed. After eight years of waiting for Bert, they were finally married in a small ceremony exactly three years ago. After their honeymoon – they had gone to Brighton for a week – they settled down in a small house in London, which they leased under very favourable terms. Mary always felt there was something intensely familiar about the house, as though she had been there before, but they brushed it aside as déjà vu.

Her son was sitting up in his crib, his eyes bright as he gave her a smile.

‘Hello, darling,’ she cooed, picking him up. ‘Are you ready to go to the Park?’

He gurgled happily as Mary tenderly dressed him, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before laying him in his pram.

The walk to the Park was a familiar one, one they took nearly every day, and exceedingly pleasant. As she pushed the pram down a tree-lined avenue, she hummed softly to herself. Everything was peaceful, quiet, and Mary settled herself on a bench, taking her son out of his pram. As she cradled him, the serenity of the moment was broken by a woman’s surprised cry.

***

It had been exactly three years since Winifred Banks had seen Mary Poppins – three incredibly lonely years. Yes, she had her husband, who had certainly been more attentive; her children, who were far less troublesome than they had been; her friends... but there was something missing in her life. And that something was Mary Poppins.

For longer than she cared to admit, Mary Poppins had been the glue that held her family together. And even though they no longer needed her to function, she was missed, especially by Winifred.

Had it really been more than three years since they had kissed? Some days it seemed as though it happened years ago, and others just moments previous, but, nevertheless, she longed for the touch of Mary’s lips on hers nearly every day.

Her children were older now – Jane was at school, as was Michael, leaving only the Twins and Annabel at home with the new nanny. The house ran smoothly under her care, leaving Winifred with ample time on her hands.

Of late, Winifred had taken to walking along quiet streets, finding the solitude she so desperately craved. She had recently found a small Park, quite different from the Park near Cherry Tree Lane, and often visited it. Never before, however, had she gone so early in the day.

There was no one else in the park, save a woman and her child. There was something familiar about the woman, and, as Winifred spied her, her heart seemed to stop. No, it couldn’t be her... but as she heard the woman speak, talking to her child, she knew it was true – it was Mary Poppins.

***

‘Mary! Mary Poppins!’ she cried out, forgetting, for a moment, that she was British, and one didn’t do such things.

Mary looked up from the baby she cradled, a confused expression on her face.

‘Mary, it’s Winifred – Winifred Banks!’ she exclaimed, coming closer to her.

‘I’m terribly sorry, but I don’t think I know you,’ Mary said.

‘Winifred Banks,’ Winifred repeated, ‘you took care of my children about ten years ago – you were our nanny.’

Mary cocked her head to the side, still perplexed. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘Of course you did! You were the best nanny we ever had. You came and went three times... once flying away on an umbrella.’

Mary scoffed. ‘Nonsense! A respectable person like me flying away on an umbrella? I’m sorry, you really must be mistaken.’

‘But your name is Mary Poppins, isn’t it?’ Winifred asked, desperate to keep her there although Mary began to prepare to leave.

‘Yes it is – well, it was. It’s Mary Alfred now,’ she said. ‘And I’m afraid that I do not know you, nor have any idea what you are talking about.’ Without further ado, Mary Poppins placed the baby back in the perambulator and walked away, leaving Winifred to stare at her retreating back.

‘Don’t you remember, Mary?’ she cried after her, causing Mary to push the pram faster. ‘When the stars sing?’

Mary stopped for a moment, and Winifred thought that she would turn back to her, but she continued on again.

***

When the stars sing... that phrase echoed in Mary’s head long after she returned home that night, long after she had tucked her child in his crib, long after her husband had returned from work, long after they had both retired to bed. When the stars sing...

That night brought dreams so clear Mary felt they must be memories, all of them having one thing in common – the presence of the woman who had called herself Winifred. Memories of their bodies tangled together on white sheets, sweaty and sated; of her hand resting on the curve of the woman’s waist; memories of lips meeting lips and arms embracing... oh, they felt too real to be imaginings of her mind! But when could they have happened? She didn’t remember meeting the woman, let alone doing... that with her!

But that phrase... it struck a chord in her memory. She heard herself say it aloud, hoping to shed some light on the turbulent, dim recesses of her mind, but nothing happened.

That night, a Starling perched on her windowsill and sang.

***

Had she really not known her? She could not believe that, but she did not believe Mary could lie. How else to explain it but as a lapse in memory? Maybe that was why she had not seen her again – nor Bert, for that matter. Perhaps something had happened to them both to make them lose their memories, forget what had happened years ago.

She had looked so disapproving when Winifred had told her the – frankly highly unbelievable – methods of departure Mary had employed during her tenure as their nanny. Was that really surprising? She must’ve appeared mad, absolutely raving, and it was no wonder that Mary wanted to get away from her as soon as possible.

But how could she forget? That was what bothered Winifred. How could she forget her? Winifred was selfish enough to believe that, because she had never forgotten Mary, naturally Mary could not forget her. But apparently she could.

With a melancholy sigh, Winifred joined her husband in bed, keeping her experience with Mary private, a memory to hold close. She drifted off to sleep, dreaming once more of the dream-that-was-not-a-dream.

***

In the morning, Mary Poppins woke with the sound of the Starling’s song still echoing in her ears. It had brought back so many half-remembered dreams, though she could not quite grasp them.

Just as she seemed on the brink of grasping what she had unknowingly forgotten, her husband stirred, waking. As she smiled down at him, giggling slightly as he pulled her down for a kiss, she pushed her dream out of her mind. Why did she have to search for a past she could not remember when she had such a happy future?

THE END