But before he could ask anything, Nadia began peppering him with questions. As they sank into the uncomfortably low chairs, he wondered how she was managing to head home early, and with no books to mark. Her classroom was several minutes walk away, and Michael never felt able to make social calls. Michael had trained with Nadia, but had barely seen her since they started at the same school in September. “Tea?” Nadia was in coat and trainers – heading home, he thought enviously – but she gave him two thumbs up. He had put off his marking all afternoon – there was no rush now. “How are you? How are you? How are you?” she sang, getting higher and more musical each time, ending in a long “youuuuuuu….?” He grinned. “Michael! How are you?” Michael wondered how Nadia managed to sound so glad to see him – to see anyone – after a five-period day. The staff room was empty, but as he stood waiting for kettle to boil, a face poked around the door. It was getting dark, lights were coming on around the school, and as he walked to the staff room, the only people Michael saw were colleagues, hurrying home. He stood, walked around his desk and – far more decisively – swept his cup into his hand. He let the pen fall from his hand, careful to miss Emma-Rose’s book. Another error, this one bigger… had Emma-Rose missed the previous lesson? He flicked back. Each pen stroke was reluctant, dejected almost. A missing letter added, a messy squiggle circled, two question marks by an astonishing factual error. Committing himself, he leaned forward, hunched over the book, head resting on his left hand. Next, he rifled around his drawer, rejecting three red pens before finding a green one: his most recent resolution, to make his marking seem more friendly. He picked up the first book, flicking past titles and dates, scribbles and doodles, missed pages and loose worksheets, to the most recent work. Just these to mark, then he could go home. Michael dropped the pile of books a couple of inches above his desk.
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