I haven’t listened to Nick Cave in so long. There was a time, during my catatonic stage where everything hurt regardless of whether it was even associated with Hemingford. After that because anything which I associated with that time, those events, the betrayal and loss – melodramatic much – was still too much to bear. I threw out my CDs, deleted MP3 files and pretended very hard that he did not exist. Not that he’d done anything to deserve this. While Angels were tormenting me and dispatching my most bestest loved ones, Nick was no doubt sat in his Brigton home, enjoying the sunshine on a beautiful sea view, sipping a lovely cup of tea. I’m, of course, aware he isn’t actually British but, having spent some time living there, I’m aware that drinking tea is an instuition and, therefore, everyone in England has to. Hopefully, he was making the most of time spent with his children before his terrible loss.
In fact, it was the death of his son that brought him back into my life. I don’t know exactly where or when, all I remember was seeing him unexpectedly on a computer screen, a suggested story for Yahoo, or Google or someone or other. For a moment I thought it was Barnabas, that he’d somehow survived explodo-Amber and then it clearly wasn’t. The resemblance was there – I still don’t know much about Angels, whether they manifest or if it’s a skin-suit job but whatever, he’d done a good job finding someone/making someone who was a close enough double for Cave. I only really made the connection then, almost a year later, I’d not noticed at the time, another thing that had slipped me by. Something else to kick myself for later. I didn’t read the article, couldn’t. The sight of him/not him brought about all kinds of sensations, mostly sick ones but the anger was there, the need to take Duncan and, or, Seth out back and lay into them for what they did.
What they did, ha!
I should have guessed, when I pulled up at a roadhouse called O’Malleys and introduced myself as Eliza Day, that I’d have to confront and come to terms with my feelings about Nick and his unintended involvement in those events at Hemingford. It was about time, I mean it wasn’t his fault that he just so happened to be my music obsession at the time, he didn’t ask to be associated with any of it (although I’ve since wondered how he would feel about the whole thing.) From day one when Allie, O’Malleys owner, manager and, at the time, only bar keep asked if I knew where the wild roses grew, Nick was back in my life.
None of this is of course even relevant or important if you’ve jumped ahead and have no idea about what happened in Hemingford – angels, mental, hate the world, fucking shit breath, all of them need to die, angels – or what the big deal was with THE BETRAYAL – Seth and Duncan brainwashed by a crazy cult leader, actually an angel, kidnapped Jackie – what loss – Jackie, enough said – and what in the holy hell Nick Cave, musician, author, film maker had to do with it – because he was all I was listening to, because Barnabas looked almost exactly like him, because associations, that’s why. Still, I’m pretty sure anyone who happens to be reading this knows exactly what happened as well as what followed after and is only here because they want to know about the thing I know Miller added to the end of my last account. You know, the thing with the dog. The thing with the not just any dog but with the THE dog…