“Excuse me, can you tell me where the old lady lives? The one with the cats?” Kenzie asked the man selling cigarettes on the street corner. The vendor was a swarthy character with rough stubble and dark, shifty eyes. He wore an out of date Adidas tracksuit – Kenzie was an expert.

“Do you smoke?” The tout said. “I have a good deal here,” he continued, avoiding the question and holding up a pack of twenty.

“I’m trying to give up. The lady?” Kenzie insisted. He was tempted but didn’t have the confidence to barter with the vendor. A couple of months ago he would have taken his arm off. Nevertheless, the cravings had subsided and besides, he’d promised his granddad

The man lost interest and Kenzie decided to move on with his search. The next person he came across, an equally shady individual, was selling lighters. The small plastic items bore logos of such things as football teams and rock bands. He smiled to himself and recalled the old sayings his granddad was forever quoting. Something about chickens and eggs – or was it carts and horses? He couldn’t quite remember and bypassed the man, without even asking.

His next opportunity didn’t arise until a few hundred yards later. A pretty young woman in a hijab was selling yellow and white flowers. He repeated his question and was met with a radiant smile of which he had never experienced. He wanted to buy the whole basket on the spot.

“Yes of course I do. We all know her.” She made no attempt to impose the flowers on the inquisitive foreigner

“In that case, if you tell me, I will buy the whole basket,” he said, smiling smugly. However the response was not what he expected; her features, previously a work of perfection, collapsed like an upset jigsaw puzzle.

“And what, may I ask sir,” she countered in perfect English, “am I supposed to do for the rest of my day?” Her comment threw him the most curved of balls.

“Pardon?” The single word reply was all he could manage.

“Yes, and what’s more, do you have so many conquests that you have to buy a whole basket of flowers?” She had a point, he pondered. Perhaps he should move on to the next unfriendly local. This task was beginning to get to him. He nodded politely at the pretty vendor and made to leave.

“So, you don’t want to buy my flowers?” She called after him. He stopped in his tracks. There was a stalemate under the hot Cairo sun, as they stood a few yards apart, staring at each other. “Don’t you want to know about the old lady and the cats?” the young woman broke the silence. Kenzie had forgotten about his original mission. He turned and approached the flower seller, summoned up all of his resolve, and hit her with a couple of words in her own language.

“Nam, wa nam.Yes and yes”, he replied, cringing with embarrassment. However his effort was greeted with a smile like the sunrise over Giza. The woman’s next words were an omelette of undecipherable syllables. She seemed to know immediately that he’d winged it.

“Who taught you that?” She chuckled. “Duolingo?”

“No my granddad,” he responded indignantly, “it was he who asked me to find the cat lady.” The standoff was well and truly over.

“I see. We mustn’t let your grandfather down,” she said, nodding her head.

“Thank you.” He’d considered using shukran, but thought better of it. “May I purchase two flowers?”

“Fatima,” the woman replied.

“Pardon? I don’t understand.” He was struggling with the language.

“My name, it’s Fatima,” she burst into laughter. Kenzie’s face turned from puzzlement to humour as he joined in her mirth.

“Kenzie. Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand, then looked at it as if it belonged to someone else, and shoved in his pocket. “Well Fatima, I’ll take two flowers for whom I have homes. In return, may I have the address of the lady please?”

“So, your conquests have reduced from a basket full to a mere pair?” Fatima declared in a mocking but friendly tone.

“That very much depends on the recipients,” the man replied, mirroring her countenance. “One being the old lady with the cats.” He handed her a note which had more than enough zeros to cover the cost of the brace of blooms, and picked two large examples.

“Follow this road, take the third left and then second right. On the left, in about three hundred metres, you’ll see a blue wall with the door in the middle,” Fatima instructed her customer, reaching in her pouch for change.

“Thank you. Please, keep the change. Also this is for you,” he smiled, as she took the flower from him with a look of surprise. Before she had the chance to protest about either action, Kenzie made off in the direction of her pointing finger.

Heeding her directions, he made the final turn, needing no further instructions, instead following the feline column to the door in the sky blue stucco wall.

The intricately carved wooden door featured a cat-flap in the bottom right-hand corner, into which the steady stream of small creatures disappeared. As the opening swung to and fro, Kenzie caught the rising and fading of an elderly female voice, speaking in soft Arabic. He recognised the word قطة cat, Arabic for the small semi domesticated beasts.

He knocked on the door and waited. Several minutes and another dozen cats elapsed before it opened ajar. Two large brown eyes appeared in the crack and even from there,he could see them open wider with surprise. They were joined by the same soft voice.

“Do I know You?” The intonation had a slight American hint to it.

“Are you the old, erm, I mean the lady with the cats?” The words had hardly left his mouth before he regretted them.

“I am indeed the old lady with the cats.” The eyes smiled clearer than any faces he’d encountered, before changing again to those of recognition.

“Kenzie? Is that you?” The door opened and a wave of fur rolled away from it.

A slightly built woman in a black and gold coat dress completed the picture. Her face, though reflecting her obvious age, was youthful in its countenance, matching the eyes perfectly. Her hair was parted in the middle above a high, intelligent forehead. There were grey flecks, fine strands of natural highlights, like silver linings around the darkest of storm clouds. He noticed how tiny her hands were as she brought them up to her mouth in shock.

“You know my name?” The young man was equally surprised.

“Of course I do. I’ve known you since you were fifteen. How long is it?” She asked, her hands moved up to her cheeks. A glint of a tear appeared in one eye.

“I’m forty now. You tell me, maths was never my strong point,” he confessed. Kenzie had taken to this stranger, even though it was the first time they’d met.

“Do I know you?” A mild panic overcame him as he recalled someone from his grandad’s past. The woman seemed to recognise this and alayed his fear.

“Well, I’ve never been to the UK and I assume that this is your first visit to Egypt,” she countered.

“Yes, I’ve only ever been to France. Oh, and Mauritius when I was a baby. That’s where my granny was from.” He recovered his composure and, with it, some bravado. “So you’re not her then?”

“Wrong country, I’m afraid. As I used to say to your grandfather, we have trees here that are older than her country.” The woman laughed but behind her humour there was a tinge of sadness. “Where are my manners? Please, come in. I’m sure I can find you something to drink.”

”Thank you, tea would be fine. Do you have milk?” The man asked, entering the yard. He was immediately surrounded by resurgent cats. They seemed to take the woman’s invitation as a form of approval for the tall foreigner.

The tiny house belied the imposing walls which surrounded it. Although, both were immaculately maintained. Two thoughts crossed Kenzie’s mind. The woman’s desire for isolation against her popularity with the locals, and the absence of the usual evidence of the presence of cats. He followed the woman into the house and the theme of cleanliness continued.

As he had assumed, the little bungalow had only three rooms. The woman disappeared into one of the two doors from the studio-like lounge and he heard the sound of water. Shortly, she returned with a tray adorned with a teapot, two glass cups, a jug and a plate of pastries.

“Sit down please, Kenzie. You’re making them nervous,” she said, placing the tray on a small round table and nodding at the cats weaving between his feet.

Kenzie sat on the single sofa and she kneeled on the floor in front of the table.

“Nana?” She asked, a mischievous grin appearing on her face.

“No thanks. I hate the vile stuff,” he replied, his sudden feeling of embarrassment quelled by her equally teasing smile. She tore a couple of leaves from a mint plant on the table, placed them in her cup and poured milk into Kenzie’s. The hostess addressed her guest.

“Tell me, how is your grandfather? I haven’t heard from him in such a long time. How did he know I’d come here with the cats?” She quizzed him, ushering him to eat and drink in typical Arab fashion. “It’s called kahk . Don’t worry, they’re plain ones, left over from Eid.”

Kenzie picked one up and tentatively took a small bite. His face was distorted before the sweet touched his lips.

“I see you’ve never changed. Now, tell me about your grandad,” she said smiling. He could make out the residual beauty in her aged features. It was like looking at the future of the beautiful flower girl. Something registered in his mind about the two women. In a strange way, he saw himself with the young woman but she assumed the identity of his host.

Kenzie still didn’t answer at the second attempt. Instead he took something from his bag. The object had the same effect on the woman as his initial appearance had at the front door.  She looked through the gaps in the fingers of her raised hands at the yellow book with its brass clasp. This time the tears were real.

“You brought it. All the way here,” she whispered as if she didn’t want her feline companions to hear.

“Yes,” he replied simply. Placing the book on the table.

“He wrote in it?” She continued, picking it up.

“Every page,” he said, a lump forming in his throat, “Until.”

She didn’t catch the last word and turned the tiny key in the clasp. Lifting the cover, she peeped at the pages through the lenses of her tears. One dropped onto the first page, and the ink came back to life, diffusing into the clear droplet as if it was meant to. It obliterated the middle of a word, her name, leaving the first and last letters; O—a.

“I can’t believe he remembered. The Little Prince too.” There was a tremble in her previously impeccable cadence. She held the book to her chest. Kenzie watched as the years dropped away from her features; for a brief moment, she was the young flower seller.

Suddenly, a large cat with an abundance of downy fur, jumped onto her knee. It rubbed against her hands which were still gripping the volume.

“Kenzie, meet Simba. He’s my house cat. Or I should say I am his house human.” Her tear stained face radiated with paradoxical humour. A rare sight indeed, he pondered. “He is also a grandson like you.”

“Really?” For the second time he was reduced to a single word response.

“Yes. Can you believe it? His grandad knew your grandad,” she replied stroking the giant fur ball. Its eyes were as bright and clear as the woman’s. “Unlike the others, he doesn’t go out. I won’t let him. Here, he’s a king. Out there, he’d be, how do you say? Fair game?”

“Yes. I know how he feels. My home town is very bad now. I hardly ever venture out. It took very special circumstances to come here, and the encouragement of my other grandad.”

“Yes, he’s a good man. Your grandad was always telling me.” she responded, gently lowering the cat to the floor. She looked sad at the man’s accurate and pragmatic assessment of the situation.

“I forgot to ask. How are you finding it? Egypt, I mean,” she asked.

“To be honest, I’ve been surviving on adrenaline. This is the best thing I’ve tasted since I left home.” He shoved a whole khak in his mouth and washed it down with a mouthful of tea.

“Well, it is beige.” They both collapsed in fits of laughter. Kenzie looked at his watch.

“I must go now. I have a flight this evening but I have some business to attend to first.” He felt his face flush as he thought of the flower seller and she seemed to notice.

“I see, handsome lad,” she smiled and tapped the side of her nose with her finger. “Will you pass my regards onto your grandad? I miss him a lot.” Suddenly Kenzie’s face folded in like the pages of the book. He closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” he rasped tears forming in his huge brown eyes.

“Oh, I see. Does he not want to hear from me?” The woman replied, her expression darkening. She wasn’t prepared for his answer.

“I’m afraid he passed away two weeks ago.” He got up to leave, his whole world in turmoil in the presence of reality. “That was his final wish,” he concluded, nodding at the book. The woman dropped it and got up from her knees. Her head was level with his chest. She wrapped her arms around him and squeezed the air from his lungs. They held the stance for several minutes and eventually he reciprocated. Their sobs heaved in unison like an abstract love scene. Eventually the man pulled away and the hostess took his place on the sofa. She picked up the book and began to read, seeming to forget he was there.

“Mae alsalama,” he said, making for the door. She snapped out of her trance and turned to face him.

“Safe journey and good luck with the flower girl. Life’s too short to dwell on the negative. Alsalama mae,” she added and turned back to the book. Three cats dashed through the door as he opened it. He returned to the spot where the girl had been and was relieved to see her still there.

“Hello again. I have a proposition for you,” greeted the young woman.

“I see, and what is this grand enterprise? Are you alright? There’s something wrong with your eyes,” she responded, frowning.

“Oh, it’s the dust. I think I’m allergic. May I?” He reached for the basket which she gave up readily. “I’ll buy the flowers, we’ll sell them together then split the profit. You’re underselling yourself.”

“You think you can beat me at my own game?” She laughed and tried to take it back.

“Give me one chance. I’m sure we can earn enough for shawarma for two with some left over,” he countered. “The station is full of Americans and Europeans.”

“One chance, that’s all you have,” she retorted. Kenzie thought of his grandad’s words. ‘You only get one chance. Take it’  The couple strolled off towards the station chatting as if they’d known each other forever.

***

The old lady turned the pages, tears streaming down her face. With each leaf, a cat left the house until, as she turned the last page, she was left with Simba on her lap. The cat purred softly and she breathed in time to the sound. Until both stopped permanently. One chance.