In hobbles Adam, a man plainly in distress. So much so that he's had to bring Eve along, just so he can lean on her. He's bent double, and obviously struggling with severe back pain. Eve crosses the room and sits, but Adam elects to remain, standing hunched at the end of the desk, grimacing in a pantomime of pain that mimics a Greek mask of tragedy.
Through anguished gasps he manages to tell his tale, with Eve contributing when it all gets too much. He was lying on the floor, prone rather than supine, watching the TV and minding his own business, when he was thunderstruck by a searing pain in his back. Eve takes up the narrative and points out that this pain was occasioned by Kane, their eldest boy, blundering into the room, tripping over dad's trailing legs and landing full force with the point of his elbow right in the middle of Adam's back-- somewhere around L4-S1 for those in the know about such matters.
Four days on and Adam is still in anguish. So I offer to examine him, and stand to walk behind him for a delicate prod. Sure enough he's exhibiting quite a lot of tenderness to touch, but mainly out wide, away from the crucial bones of the spine. These exams are usually easy enough to do through a t-shirt or similar, but since this month Amdridge has been temporarily twinned with Arctic Greenland, everbody's arriving swathed in layers, so to get my anatomical bearings I've had to ask Adam's permission to lift them to have a proper look. As I do I can't help but notice the fetching tattoo he's sporting, right at the pint of impact. In a calligraphic Gothic hand the artist has spelled out his son's name. Verily the mark of Kane.