• • •

Onstage at the Jump Club in London, Plum Nellie performed a storming version of “Dizzy, Miss Lizzy” and came off to shouts of: “More!”

Backstage, Lenny said: “That was great, lads, best we’ve ever played!”

Dave looked at Walli and they both grinned. The group was getting better fast, and every gig was the best ever.

Dave was surprised to find his sister waiting in the dressing room. “How did the play go?” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there.”

“It stopped in the first act,” she said. “President Kennedy has been shot dead.”

“The president!” said Dave. “When did this happen?”

“A couple of hours ago.”

Dave thought of their American mother. “Is Mam upset?”

“Terribly.”

“Who shot him?”

“No one knows. He was in Texas, in a place called Dallas.”

“Never heard of it.”

Buzz, the bass player, said: “What shall we do for an encore?”

Lenny said: “We can’t do an encore, it would be disrespectful. President Kennedy has been assassinated. We have to do a minute’s silence, or something.”

Walli said: “Or a sad song.”

Evie said: “Dave, you know what we should do.”

“Do I?” He thought for a second, then said: “Oh, yeah.”

“Come on, then.”

Dave went onstage with Evie and plugged in his guitar. They stood at the microphone together. The rest of the group watched from the wings.

Dave spoke into the microphone. “My sister and I are half British, half American, but we feel very American tonight.” He paused. “Most of you probably know by now that President Kennedy has been shot dead.”

He heard several gasps from the audience, indicating that some had not heard, and the room went quiet. “We would like to play a special song now, a song for all of us, but especially for Americans.”

He played a G chord.

Evie sang:

O say can you see, by the dawn’s early light,

What so proudly we hail’d at the twilight’s last gleaming,

The room was dead silent.

Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight

O’er the ramparts we watch’d were so gallantly streaming?

Evie’s voice rose thrillingly.

And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there,

Several people in the audience were crying openly now, Dave saw.

O say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

“Thank you for listening,” said Dave. “And God bless America.”

PART FIVE

SONG

1963–1967

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Maria was not allowed to go to the funeral.

The day after the assassination was a Saturday, but like most White House staff she went into work, performing her duties in the press office with tears streaming down her face. It was not noticed: half the people there were crying.

She was better off here than at home alone. Work distracted her a little from her grief, and there was no end of work: the world’s press wanted to know every detail of the funeral arrangements.