The Art of Deception. Louise Mangos

small part of me ignored the possibility that she was telling the truth. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to quell the uneasy feeling in my gut. I was still riding high. Let me have this moment.

      Since taking the place of the girl who returned to Australia, I felt comfortable in the company of my room-mates, despite the restrictions of sharing the small sleeping space. We all worked for the hostel in various capacities, and the others had reached the end of a busy season. Although I had taken a cherished colleague’s place, I was never made to feel the imposter. I refused to let my feelings be hurt, despite the fact that I was currently back in the dorm and not going home with Matt.

      The door opened and Anne came in.

      ‘Not staying at lover boy’s place tonight then?’ Terri asked Anne.

      I wondered if Terri was like this with everyone.

      ‘No, not tonight. It’s going to be a busy week. I have to help with closing the accounts and I cannot be late to work tomorrow. Was it a good night at the bar, les filles?’

      ‘Ha!’ said Terri, and looked at me, grinning. Anne raised her eyebrows, and I blushed furiously.

      ‘Mathieu?’ Anne asked. I nodded with a sheepish smile, which dropped as soon as Terri continued.

      ‘What happened to that girlfriend of his? You know, that Somali girl he used to hang out with at the bar. Leila, wasn’t it?’ Terri asked.

      I was sure she hadn’t meant to wreck my mood, but her words were like a blow to the gut.

      ‘She disappeared halfway through the season,’ she continued. ‘I heard things might have been a bit rough for her. Matt has a wild streak. I know he punched some guy’s lights out in the Grand. Don’t know what happened to Leila though. Do you?’ Terri turned to Anne.

      Anne cleared her throat. She knew how I felt about Matt. I needed to know more about this Leila she mentioned. My stomach churned.

      ‘What do you mean? He hasn’t said anything about a girlfriend,’ I said, feeling witless that I hadn’t actually asked him.

      This was information I naively assumed would be shared long before things went too far. And tonight, things had definitely gone too far.

      ‘I did know Leila. We were friends for a while.’ Anne looked awkward, put on the spot. I knew she wouldn’t want to hurt me, but she also wouldn’t want to lie. Even in the short time I’d known her, I already felt we had too much in common to ruin a good friendship.

      ‘She was a student at the international college for a few semesters, studying liberal arts.’

      Now I really was beginning to feel like a slut. Or at least an intruder. I recalled the barman warning me that Matt was a Casanova. Jealousy instantly rose like the bow of a sinking ship, but Anne felt compelled to continue.

      ‘She and Matt were together for a while. It was a highly forbidden relationship, not only because of the faculty-student rule, but also in the eyes of her family. When her younger brother Kafia enrolled at the college the following year and saw what was going on, he reported Leila to their parents, and they took her away immediately. She had to return to Mogadishu and plans are underway to get her married off as soon as possible to avoid scandal. She wasn’t even allowed to write to me when she left. Kafia is still at the college, though I think he will graduate this spring, and he sometimes tells me about his sister.

      ‘I think he feels guilty having ratted on her, but the family doesn’t care, and to make things even worse, he has a beautiful blonde American girlfriend. The inequality of that makes me sick. Lucie, I don’t think there is anything … but Matt, he’s …’

      ‘Did Matt and Leila have, you know, an intimate relationship?’ I asked, knowing that prejudices around prearranged marriages meant people wouldn’t look favourably on one of their princesses minus her virtue.

      ‘Of course they were, Lucie; what century are you living in?’ Terri said as she changed into her pyjamas. ‘I heard she was hoping to find a way to stay, or at least to come back later, but I don’t know what’s going on now that she’s gone. I guess the link to her family was too strong. Too bad for her. Good for you, though, eh Lucie? He’s quite a catch, despite his reputation. Guys like that usually get what they want and hightail it outta there. Know what I mean?’

      Terri howled with laughter as she made her way to the bathroom across the hallway, and I smiled uneasily. I wanted to ask about Matt’s rough streak, but I couldn’t believe that someone who had laid his fingers on my cheek so gently could be violent. Her flippant comments validated the barman’s assessment of Matt, but I was sure her judgement was false. People surely couldn’t believe that Matt would remain faithful to a girl he might never see again.

      I turned back to Anne, and saw the apology written on her face.

      ‘Anne, thanks for telling me. You know, I’ve really fallen for him.’ I leaned back on my pillow and closed my eyes.

      ‘It’s not too late to shut it down, Lucie,’ said Anne quietly. ‘That way no one gets hurt. And I mean you. You could be getting yourself into more hot water than you imagine. There’s some weird stuff going on with his family. Anyway, it’s not for me to judge. I knew Leila, but I don’t know Mathieu very well, only rumours from François. I’m sorry to have ruined your magical night.’

      ‘Oh, let the girl enjoy the thrill of the chase,’ said Terri as she came back into the room. ‘As long as she knows the consequences. They all think with their dicks around here.’

      I pretended to laugh it off, but felt a fragment of sorrow as I turned on my side and tried in vain to sleep, thinking how naive I might have been to believe in a fairy tale.

      * * *

      ‘Dis-donc, Lucie, are you okay?’ Yasmine asks.

      I realise my eyes are hot with unshed tears. I rarely show my emotions. To protect myself in this place, and to protect my own sanity, I try to remain aloof. My supposed crime alone elicits a bizarre respect from the others, a morbid fascination. If the authorities thought I posed a danger to the other inmates or the guards, I would have been placed in the high-security block. But they know I am not an evil person. I didn’t commit first-degree murder. I am even housed in the same block as the mothers.

      ‘I’m getting a cold. I have a headache,’ I say pathetically, blowing my nose loudly.

      I screw up the paper and throw it into the toilet, flush it angrily to try to banish the memories. I’m still cross with myself for revealing vulnerability. I sit back on my stool and sigh, steadying the ragged breath in my throat.

      ‘Do you have a partner, Yasmine? Someone in France? In Algeria? I’ve never asked you.’

      Good to change the subject, but I regret sounding so chummy.

      ‘Not really,’ she says. ‘There was a man I was seeing in Lyon. Jean-Claude. He was a sous-chef in a high-class restaurant. But it is not easy, dating a chef. His hours were so irregular. We could never see each other on the weekends.’

      Yasmine’s eyes glaze for a moment, then she laughs and shakes her head.

      ‘I can’t go back to Algiers. There is nothing there for me. My parents are … they no longer exist. They are dead,’ she says with a hesitation that makes me think they haven’t actually gone from this world.

      She’s a pretty girl, unusual yellow-green eyes and long dark hair. I think about her chef boyfriend. If he knew about Yasmine’s activities, he might have thought it wasn’t easy dating a bike thief. Irregular hours, erratic wages. In truth I think her timetable would have suited Jean-Claude, her work typically carried out during the hours of darkness, when the odd cyclist might be enjoying a meal at a Michelin-starred restaurant.

      The irony is that Yasmine works in the bakery now. I don’t think I could stand the job, too much of a challenge to resist all that warm, yeasty bread. I’d balloon up within days, constantly cramming in irresistible comfort food. I’ve