‘Pigs have been fed already,’ Aaron told him. ‘You’ve to be up early when you keep animals, Robin, but you can clean out sties and then you’ll know whether or not you’d like to be a farmer.’
Peggy smiled. She recalled when Jack was told the same thing at about the same age and he couldn’t decide whether to be a fisherman or a farmer, but two trips out on the Humber in the shrimp boat on squally days had decided him. He would be a landsman, to his father’s disappointment and his mother’s relief. She watched as Robin climbed into his rubber boots and warm coat and wondered which he would choose. Of course, he might not choose either; might not even be given the choice, since it was his mother’s decision whether he stayed with them or left. She felt the pull of her heart strings and knew this wouldn’t do. She was becoming very fond of the boy and it wouldn’t do at all. He wasn’t hers.
Sunday morning Robin was up early and by seven o’clock was fully dressed and had finished his breakfast and was ready to go out. Peggy had left socks and gloves, a flannel vest, a woollen jumper and cord trousers in front of the range so that they would be warm to put on.
‘We’ll be back by dinner time,’ Aaron told her, kissing her cheek.
‘With some shrimps,’ Robin added eagerly.
‘Aye, well mebbe.’ Aaron grinned. ‘Or a whiting or two.’
‘See if you can catch a joint of beef and we’ll have that wi’ Yorkshire pudding,’ Peggy answered back.
They were halfway down the track to the village with Betsy pulling the trap when they spotted a familiar figure coming towards them carrying a sack over his shoulder. Robin immediately hunched down so as not to be seen.
‘Sit up, lad,’ Aaron told him. ‘You’re not to be afraid of him. We’ve had a few words. He’s been warned. He’ll not touch you or any other bairn again.’
Robin glanced at Aaron. ‘How did you know it was him?’ His voice was low, even though the man was not yet near enough to hear them.
‘Onny by description. And there’s no other man in ’village who’d strike anybody else’s bairn.’
As they drew near, Aaron pulled over slightly to let the man pass, and Davis Deakin scowled and nodded, glancing at Robin before looking away again.
‘I’ve forgotten his name,’ Robin said.
‘Deakin,’ Aaron said. ‘Davis Deakin. He lives in ’cottage next to Foggit’s farm.’
‘We’ve got his dog!’ Robin said nervously.
‘Aye.’ Aaron whistled through his teeth. ‘So we have, but ’dog’s not fastened up. He can go back any time he wants.’
‘I think he’d like to stay in the house.’
‘I expect he would, but he can’t. If he’s stopping he’s got to earn his keep and keep foxes out of ’henhouse. Besides, we’ve made him that fine kennel, haven’t we?’
‘We did,’ Robin said proudly. ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever helped to make anything like that.’
The day after the dog had followed Aaron home and had apparently decided to stay, Robin and Aaron had gathered some wood and felt together and built a sound, rainproof kennel, and even before Peggy had found an old rug and blanket to put inside it the dog, whom Robin had named Charlie, stepped inside and claimed it as his own.
‘I’ve never had a dog before,’ Robin told Aaron now. ‘Well, I know he’s not mine, but I mean I’ve never lived beside one.’
‘I see,’ Aaron said thoughtfully. He pulled into the main street, glanced at the estuary and turned old Betsy’s head towards the creek. ‘Well, to mek him yours, you have to be responsible for feeding him and giving him water and teaching him to come to heel, that kind o’ thing. A dog has to be taught just ’same as bairns have, otherwise how can they learn?’
Robin pondered. ‘So could I do that?’
‘I don’t see why you shouldn’t,’ Aaron said. ‘It’d be a job less for me.’
‘But I think you’d always be special to him, cos you rescued him.’
‘Well, mebbe we’ll share him then, shall we? How would that be?’
‘Splendid!’ Robin enthused. ‘My mother will be so surprised when I tell her!’
Aaron didn’t answer, but only nodded. From the manner in which Robin had answered, it almost seemed as if he was expecting to see his mother fairly soon. He wondered if there was something he didn’t know.
He told Peggy later that he would have said that Robin had taken to sailing like a duck to water, but that the expression was overused by everybody who lived by a river.
‘It’s ’fishing that’s important,’ he had told Robin. ‘Aye, you’ve to know how to handle a boat and keep yourself safe, but you still need that knack of knowing where shrimps or fish are and you have to watch out for ’signs.’
‘What kind of signs?’ Robin had asked. He kept his hand on the bulwark to keep himself steady but he was sailing the boat; Aaron had shown him how whilst they were still in the creek, just to get him used to the feel of her. He’d told him that the back of the boat was the stern and if he looked forward the left side was the port side and the right side was starboard.
‘Starboard comes from ’old Viking ships, so I’m told,’ he had said. ‘They called it steerboard.’
‘Perhaps they steered their ships from the right side?’ Robin suggested. ‘And what’s the front of the boat called?’
‘That’s the bow.’
‘Oh, I know that word,’ Robin said excitedly, and he felt the exhilarating pull of the wind on the sails as they reached the estuary waters. ‘That’s what performers do when they’ve finished their act on stage.’
Aaron glanced at him; he knows such odd things, he thought as he strode over to help him. ‘Keep her steady,’ he said.
‘What kind of signs?’ Robin asked again. ‘In the water, do
