‘It’s brilliant to see everyone, we appreciate you all coming out to celebrate the lives of our friends, our family. Johnny was twenty-six when he died and he left a world of love behind. He was a poet, a songwriter, a singer, a musician. He was a funny bastard.’

The crowd laughed.

‘He knew what he wanted, and he wanted the world. That wasn’t to be, but for a short time he had it all.’

The crowd cheered.

‘Because he had us and he had you.’

The crowd stamped their feet.

‘And he had Rabbit Hayes. What can I say about Rabbit? We loved her, she was our mascot, she was our sound engineer, our cheerleader, she broke up fights.’

‘The crowd cheered.

‘And then she started a few.’

They laughed.

‘She kept us together for as long as possible, and for Johnny she was his muse, his best friend, his conscience, his passion and the love of his life.’

The crowd applauded and he raised his hand in the air to silence them once more.

‘He used to think they’d be together again. She used to think death was the end. Who knows where they are or aren’t, but either way . . .’ – he looked back at the photograph of Johnny singing to her – ‘they’ll always be together, so let’s get this show started.’

The crowd went wild. ‘Thanks for your support – all the money goes to MS Ireland and the Irish Cancer Society, and this is a song about freedom . . .’

It was a venue that held two hundred, but the noise that filled the air sounded like two thousand. Davey clicked his sticks together – ‘One, two, three’ – and knocked out the beat. The band kicked in and as soon as Jason opened his mouth to sing the crowd joined in. The hackles rose at the back of Davey’s neck, signalling this moment was special.

There were a lot of mistakes that night, but the twins had the audience in stitches, stopping songs and giving out yellow cards to anyone who made a mistake – mostly it was Davey as he hadn’t been party to any rehearsals.

‘Stop. Stop. Stop. The famous drummer’s making a bollocks of things,’ Francie said, taking a yellow card out of his pocket and throwing it at Davey.

‘Well, if someone had told me I’d be playing here tonight . . .’

Francie threw a second yellow card his way. ‘That’s for whining – we have a no-whining policy.’

The drum kit seemed too small for Davey, or the seat was too low – either way his knees were in his mouth.

‘Look at him, I’ve seen better legs hanging out of nests. Isn’t that right, DB?’ Francie said.

Davey hit the kit – de-dum tish – and the audience laughed.

The lads took turns to tell stories about the songs that Jason was singing.