Echoes by Maeve Binchy Read Free Book Online

green.”
    â€œNo, I’m fine,” Clare said. “I’m fine.” She was saying it to herself rather than to Josie Dillon who was busy opening up the second sandwich and looking into it with pleasure.
    Miss O’Hara came into the classroom and the noise receded. She gave a few orders: pick up those crusts at once, open the window to let in some fresh air, no it didn’t matter how cold and wet it was, open it. How many times did she have to say put the books away before you start to eat? And suddenly, “Clare, can you come out here to me a minute?”
    Clare didn’t want to go; she didn’t want to talk to her ever again. She hated Miss O’Hara for making such a fool of her, telling her that she’d won the prize and building up her hopes. But Miss O’Hara had said it again. “Clare. Now, please.”
    Unwillingly she went out into the corridor which was full of people going to and from the cloakrooms getting ready for afternoon classes. The bell would ring any moment now.
    Miss O’Hara put her books on a windowsill right on top of the Sacred Heart altar. There were altars on nearly every windowsill and each class was responsible for one of them.
    â€œI got you another prize, because yours was so good. It was really good and if you had been competing with people nearer your own age you’d have won hands down. So anyway I got this for you.” Miss O’Hara handed her a small parcel. She was smiling and eager for Clare to open it. But Clare would not be bought off with a secret prize.
    â€œThank you very much, Miss O’Hara,” she said and made no attempt to untie the string.
    â€œWell, aren’t you going to look at it?”
    â€œI’ll open it later,” she said. It was as near to being rude as she dared to go, and in case it had been just that bit too much she added, “Thank you very much.”
    â€œStop sulking, Clare, and open it.” Miss O’Hara’s voice was firm.
    â€œI’m not sulking.”
    â€œOf course, you are, and it’s a horrible habit. Stop it this minute and open up the present I bought you so generously out of my own money.” It was an order. It also made Clare feel mean. Whatever it was she would be very polite.
    It was a book of poetry, a book with a soft leather cover that had fancy flowers painted on it with gold-leaf paint. It was called The Golden Treasury of Verse. It was beautiful.
    Some of the sparkle had come back into the small face with the big eyes. “Open the book now and see what I wrote.” Angela was still very teacherish.
    Clare read the inscription aloud.
    â€œ ‘That’s the first book for your library. One day when you have a big library of books you’ll remember this one, and you’ll take it out and show it to someone, and you’ll say it was your first book, and you won it when you were ten.’ ”
    â€œWill I have a library?” Clare asked excitedly.
    â€œYou will if you want to. You can have anything if you want to.”
    â€œIs that true?” Clare felt Miss O’Hara was being a bit jokey, her voice had a tinny ring to it.
    â€œNo, not really. I wanted to give you this in front of the whole school, I wanted Immaculata to give it to you, but she wouldn’t. Make you too uppity or something. No, there’s a lot of things I want and don’t get, but that’s not the point, the point is you must go out and try for it, if you don’t try you can’t get anything.”
    â€œIt’s beautiful.” Clare stroked the book.
    â€œIt’s a grand collection, much nicer than your poetry book in class.”
    Clare felt very grown-up: Miss O’Hara saying “Immaculata” without “Mother” before it. Miss O’Hara saying their poetry textbook wasn’t great! “I’d have bought a book anyway if I’d won the guinea,” she said forgivingly.
    â€œI know you