The old man lay flat on his back wearing a T-shirt and swimming trunks, lifting his head as the acupuncturist prepared the needles. The table he was lying on took up most of the little room, and Bill pressed himself flat against the wall, smiling at the worried look on his father’s face. ‘I’m not sure about this,’ the old man said. He winced as the acupuncturist slipped the first needle into his big toe. ‘Relax,’ Bill said. ‘The Chinese have believed in this stuff for thousands of years.’ The needles were deftly slipped into his father’s calf, thigh and hand. It seemed as though the acupuncturist hardly punctured the old man’s skin. ‘Mind you,’ Bill said, unable to resist it, ‘they also believe that eating the testicles of a tiger will make you more virile.’ The old man shot him a doubtful look, and Bill laughed. The acupuncture had been Becca’s idea. She had seen the aches and pains of Bill’s father, seen how his body had been worn down by a lifetime of manual work.
