The Loop by Nicholas Evans Page B

svelte father, who had already confided, with a proud pat of his stomach, that he went crack of every dawn to a gym where all kinds of famous people worked out, ordered the striped bass, grilled, no oil, no sauce, and nothing to start. Helen felt not just a klutz but a glutton now too.
    While the waiter heaped a mortifying amount of spaghetti carbonara onto her plate, her father leaned nearer and said,
    ‘Guess where we’re getting married.’
    Helen wanted to say Vegas maybe? Or Reno, or wherever it was you could get divorce papers out of a machine the very next day.
    ‘I have absolutely no idea.’
    ‘Barbados.’
    He took Courtney’s hand and Courtney smiled and kissed him on the cheek. Helen wanted to throw up.
    ‘Wow,’ she said instead. ‘Barbados. Wow.’
    ‘But only if you promise to come,’ said Courtney, wagging a long red nail at her.
    ‘Well, sure. I’m often cruising around down there, so why the hell not?’ Helen saw a flicker of hurt in her father’s eyes and told herself to stop. Be nice, for heaven’s sake, just be nice.
    ‘You pay, I come.’ She beamed at them both and went on, ‘No, seriously, I’d love to. I’m really happy for you both.’
    Courtney seemed touched. She smiled and her eyes went all watery. She probably wasn’t so bad, thought Helen, although why she should want to marry a man more than twice her age was a mystery. For heaven’s sake, the guy wasn’t even rich.
    Courtney said, ‘I know stepmothers are supposed to be like the wicked Queen in Snow White or something—’
    ‘Right!’ Helen cut in. ‘But give it time, you can grow into it. I mean, hey, you’ve already got the nails.’ She boomed with laughter. Courtney smiled uncertainly. Helen poured herself the last of the champagne, feeling her father’s eyes on her. He and Courtney had already switched to mineral water. Klutz, glutton, why not drunken bitch too?
    ‘You’re a biologist,’ Courtney said. Boy, she was trying hard.
    ‘I wash dishes. Or used to wash dishes. I quit last week. Technically, at the moment I’m, as they say, “between jobs”.’
    ‘“Available.”’
    ‘That too.’
    ‘And you’re still up on Cape Cod?’
    ‘Yup. Stranded on the Cape. Good a place as any to wash up.’
    ‘Why do you always put yourself down so much?’ her father said. He turned to Courtney. ‘She’s a brilliant wolf biologist. This PhD thesis she’s finishing is ground-breaking stuff.’
    ‘Groundbreaking!’ Helen scoffed.
    ‘It’s true. Your supervisor said so.’
    ‘He doesn’t know a thing. Anyway, that was three years ago. By now the whole species has probably evolved into tree-dwelling herbivores.’
    ‘Helen lived among them in Minnesota for a number of years.’
    ‘“Lived among them.” Dad, you make me sound like Mowgli or something.’
    ‘Well, you did.’
    ‘Not “lived among”. You hardly ever got to see the damn things. I just did research, that’s all.’
    In fact, her father wasn’t far wide of the mark. Whether her research was ‘groundbreaking’ was debatable, but it was certainly one of the most intensive studies ever carried out into why some wolves kill livestock and others don’t. It was about the age-old issue of nature versus nurture (which had always intrigued her) and seemed to suggest that cattle-killing was more learned than inherited.
    Helen was damned, however, if she was going to perform a party piece and share any of this with Courtney, who now had her pretty chin propped on one hand, trying to look fascinated.
    ‘Tell me what it was like. I mean, what did you do?’
    Helen emptied her glass before answering, nonchalantly.
    ‘Oh, you kind of follow them around. Follow their tracks, trap them, radio-collar them. Find out what they’re eating.’
    ‘How?’
    ‘Basically you examine their shit.’
    A woman at the next table gave her a look. Helen smiled sweetly at her and went on, louder.
    ‘You pick up every piece of shit you find and poke around in