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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