5. The Christmas Pickle
5
The Christmas Pickle
Bre
“T he rules are simple,” Nick called to the assembled Carmichael clan, Sharee, Piers, and his crew. “Most of you know the game, but I will repeat and reiterate, for our new friends and guests.” He tipped his greying head to Sharee and Piers (who seemed to be watching himself smile in the reflection of the camera’s eye), and the few seasonal workers who’d been called to join the assembly. The farm got busy from August onwards, but December was, obviously, the busiest time of the year, work made ‘fun’ by the search for the pickle.
“We know you love a wee bit of competition amongst yourselves!” Nick continued.
Liam, Connor, and Seth laughed, loosing a rowdy, “Aye!”
The children, beyond excited, barely stood still, requiring hand-holding and frequent reminders to “hush now” and “listen to Grandpa.” Nick grinned at everyone and Bre’s heart swelled. Where would she be without them? This large, loud, mass of hulking young lads and tender-hearted older people who had basically adopted her and Seth so long ago.
She shot another worried glance towards the little house that lay beyond the trees. What would her mother make them endure this year? Seth must have been thinking something similar. Their eyes locked across the Carmichael crowd, and they exchanged a small, worried glance before turning back to Nick, standing elevated on the wide porch.
“It’s no secret we borrowed and somewhat altered this centuries-old German custom, but as a Carmichael family tradition, the Christmas Pickle started back when Holly and I met,” Nick told the congregation. “We were meant to be, my lovely wife and I, this farm, and our four strapping lads.” Nick waved to the long lines of trees that comprised the farm, and their gathered family.
“Holly found yer wee pickle alright!” Richard called, ducking a blow from his red-faced wife who, despite his previous claims, was not hiding in the house at all.
More hoots and hollers made Nick blush, as he continued. “In the spirit of Christmas joy, last night my lovely wife and I took a stroll through the fields and we left a little bit of joy in the trees for one lucky person to find.” The crowd cheered once more, Nick raising his voice above the din. “Now, you all know how hard it is to find the Christmas Pickle ornament, and you know the best way to find it is–”
“Look under yer kilt!” Richard called, to great amusement.
Despite all pretence of propriety, Nick couldn’t help but chuckle. “Aye, Father, true. But if you’re stringing Christmas ornaments under yer kilt, I’ll be a wee bit worried!”
“And I’d be worried if your wee kilt-pickle is green , Grandpa!” Graham called across the crowd. Despite her promise to be cool, calm, and collected while Piers was here, Bre couldn’t help but laugh along with the Carmichael crew.
As well as those brilliant blue eyes that you couldn’t help but get lost in, the Carmichaels were all blessed with a wicked sense of humour. They were fun to be around and found joy so easily, it made her heart ache. The Carmichaels actually enjoyed being around each other. They were so unlike the much smaller, more serious Henderson family.
Bre and Seth would prefer to suck on a workman’s sock than spend one sunny afternoon with their folks. The Henderson house was always one of two thigs, Bre thought. It was either too quiet, stifling and oppressive, or a screaming match between her and Elanor. The first option, she rather enjoyed. Billy was habitually quiet and pensive, but his when he did loose his big, booming laugh, the very earth itself shook joyously with him. Laughter like that had never shaken the foundations of the Henderson household.
“The way te find the Christmas Pickle,” Nick tried again, “is to pitch in. Work hard. Tell the customers you’re searching for snails – God knows ye should be doing that anyway! But all the while, look through the tree for the prized Pickle ornament.”
“What’s the prize if we find it, Grandpa?” ten-year-old Callum called, so excited he couldn’t decide which foot to stand on.
“Whoever finds the Christmas Pickle is proclaimed the champion of the season, and all that entails!” Nick declared to the assembly. “Including – but not limited to – choosing the Christmas Day meal for the family, who MUST in turn, eat it–”
A few moans went up amongst the older Carmichaels, who had lived through their fair share of awful dinners over the years.
Nick continued, “A personal favour with no questions asked from each and every family member …”
“No foot massages this year, Mum!” Liam called to Holly.
“And no roping us in to be your sexy lumberjacks for Instagram either!” Connor added.
Holly and Sharee laughed, sharing a knowing smile that did nothing to dispel the idea that their coordinated social media blitz would include plaid and bared pectorals.
“AND the best prize of all!” Nick continued, “the person who finds the Christmas Pickle is allowed to inspect their gifts under the tree and can open any one present early!”
The children nearly fainted. Graham had to catch Leo and Lachlan by their shirt tails as they tried to dart off into the fields.
Piers had moved, finally, from the centre of the shot. Nick continued, straight into the camera. “We used the search to get our boys invested in helping out during the busy season, but I am glad it has carried on. You four lads –” Nick looked from Graham, to Connor, Liam, then Billy. “You have been great sons to your mother, and great friends to me. And for the next few weeks, you’ll be jolly great workers as well! Now, to work!”
“Let’s find the pickle!”
The kids were off, darting about with no idea that finding the pickle among the acres of trees was the festive equivalent of locating a needle in a haystack.
“Come inside and I’ll show you my Australian native wreaths,” Holly said to Sharee and Billy’s grandmother, who hung back, quiet and observant, as usual.
“I would love that!” Sharee gushed, linking arms with the two women. “And any chance of those sugar cookies you sold out of last year? Thirty seconds flat, I think you said?”
“Three seconds,” Holly beamed. “Quickest online sale my store has ever seen!”
“That is amazing! Especially considering the sheer amount of baking you did! What did you call them again, the biscuits?”
“The festive phallus.” Holly’s voice dropped ever so slightly, her hand moving to her mouth in a mock stage whisper. “We don’t mention the festive phallus around Nick. He’s a bit of a fuddy duddy sometimes.”
Nick’s eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together as he pretended not to hear the comment, helping an unsteady Richard into the fields.
“I’ve got a few batches in the oven,” Holly confided. This was nothing new. Holly perpetually had something in the oven. The day Breanna entered the Carmichael residence to find that overworked double cooker wasn’t packed like an overstuffed Christmas stocking – well, that was the day the world was officially ending.
“You are a goddess, Holly Carmichael,” Sharee said.
“ You are a goddess, Breanna baby.” Piers Ryder’s voice slid down Bre’s spine like engine oil. “Lead the way to Edsel, and we can start filming, hey? But …”
Revv drew the word out as he pouted, and she had the sudden, unnerving desire to punch him in the throat. The pout was endearing on TV, and the puppy-dog eyes were cute and all, but on a fully grown man, in real life, it just felt wrong and rather manipulative.
“… we can’t take my Chevvy,” Piers continued. “Jaxon and Trudy will have to wash her, get the dust off and camera-ready, you know? But we could go ahead and scope out the scenery, prep the sets …”
Her garage was hardly a ‘set’ to be prepped, but she supposed Revv knew what he wanted to film for Crank Shaft . If she was in his too-shiny shoes, she’d want to do her research, too, before filming began. He’d probably want to make sure the garage was as tidy and presentable in real life as the photos she’d submitted with her application all those months ago.
She knew from experience – and from watching countless years of the show – that not every operational workspace was fit for a film crew. In Bre’s experience, many garages, especially in small towns like Moonshine, were disorganised, greasy, and dank places, their walls often collaged with magazine pages featuring naked women.
There were often too many tools in too few toolboxes, and the occasional uninspiring mechanic who’d added a spare tyre to his belly years ago. She’d worked in these places, ignoring the boobs and outrageously fluffy pubic hair of the 70s models, so she could finish her apprenticeship.
At first, she’d expected the male gaze to slide from the walls to her, thinking the men might have issues with a female mechanic in their workshops. Looking nothing like those wall-women – plus having the backing of the four strapping Carmichael lads, and her own brother, if ever she needed them to fight for her – had fixed any lingering unwelcome attention.
Once on the show and under international scrutiny, the cracks often began to show in people and places like those. Piers Ryder was the Gordon Ramsay of the car world. Instead of kitchen nightmares and mouldy disaster-filled cooking spaces, Revv exposed oil spots and transmission leaks, criticising the general mess, and the chaos that busy, careless mechanics allowed their garages to become.
Not Bre. She’d always been a little … particular. Methodical. Structured. And she’d been preparing for months to showcase her space and restoration skills with her pride and joy, Edsel.
Edsel was a 1934 Ford Coupe Utility, and a central element in Holly’s social media presence each Christmas. Edsel, in various stages of restoration, featured in family photos with Santa at the farm, hauled decorations to and from various barns for events, and gave countless kids tours as they bumped along the paths at snail speed, giggling with pure, unrestrained joy from the tray of the ute.
“You want to start now, Revv?” Excitement filled Bre’s veins where worry had previously flowed. “We can take the ATVs. I have a small garage in town that’s basically just a shop front and servicing space for the locals, but my main restoration work is done out here.”
“Which is why you invited us.”
“Exactly. Years ago, the boys–”
“Boys?” Piers eyed the hulking, muscled mass that was Billy, before his gaze flicked back to the large house that held even more equally large men.
“– and I,” Breanna affirmed, “built a decent garage at the edge of the property. That’s where you’ll be staying, since all the rooms in the house are full. Plus, it’ll give you immediate access to Edsel. It’s the best workspace I could have asked for, really. Still on the farm but just out of the way enough that I get privacy and space to work to my own schedule, when I’m not busy with –” she tried not to look at Billy, “– other Christmas plans.”
The extent of those plans had been carefully omitted. As had the fact that they’d find her impressive workspace at the end of the long, black line of ash that was the result of yet another of her mother’s mood swings.
The Carmichaels had hoped building Bre’s garage on the Henderson side of their property might (a) improve relations between Bre, Seth, and their parents, by the sheer effort of proximity, and (b) prove to be something of a buffer between their borders and disputes. They’d been wrong on both accounts.
Thankfully, her memories of the garage were much happier. Heat crept into her cheeks now as she recalled the last time she and Billy had been there, together. Music had blasted from the speaker system Billy had long ago helped her install, the old CD from their younger years shaking the building with each heavy drum beat and screeching electric guitar solo. Somehow, he’d managed to become tangled in a string of tinsel, and she hadn’t wanted to waste the opportunity for a fun game.
They’d taken turns to strip each other, wrapping the tinsel around and around each other’s bodies, using it to tickle, tease and seduce, until they slowly became aware that the music had stopped. Only shaking, heavy breaths filled the minute spaces between them.
She could almost feel the slightly rough tickle of the tinsel between her legs as he bit gently on her bottom lip – the same lip she bit down on now, trying to suppress the memory. It took real trust to be that silly and sexy with someone, and she trusted Billy with her body, and her life.
God, she’d really made a mess of things.
“I can’t wait to hear about these other Christmas plans, Breanna baby.” Piers grinned.
Billy’s eyebrows drew down.
Billy wasn’t a mind reader. He needed her to speak her mind and intentions. She could read him well enough, though, and one thought showed plain as day on his face: No way in hell, buddy.