Amy, My Daughter (22 page)

She went upstairs to get dressed, and after a while I followed to see if she was all right. I heard her on the phone to one of her friends saying, ‘Yeah, my dad threw Blake out and kicked him up the arse … My dad done his nut, it was fantastic.'

She was boasting about what I had done and seemed pleased that I'd done it. I crept downstairs, and when Amy finally appeared, she, Phil and I headed off to the East End.

About halfway there Amy started sweating, panting and shaking. Phil knew straight away what it was: ‘She's going into alcohol withdrawal. You need to get her a drink, which will stave off the craving.'

‘Are you kidding?' I asked.

‘She needs a small amount of alcohol and that will do the trick.'

Amy was in a bad way, and I was in no position to argue, so I stopped the cab and bought her a miniature bottle of vodka. She drank it and, sure enough, it worked.

We went to Albert Gardens, had a walk round the park in the middle of the square, then went to the Ocean Estate, just around the corner, which was where Phil's grandparents had lived. We went back to Albert Gardens, and by now the news had spread that Amy was there and quite a lot of people were around. Amy signed autographs and posed for pictures. I leaned back on the cab and watched her, happy with her fans. ‘I love people seeing Amy like this,' I said to Phil. ‘They normally only get to see her in the papers and she's not like that. This is great.'

Amy looked at me then and smiled; she was pointing out to the people around her where our family, her grandparents, had lived in Albert Gardens. ‘They were at number thirty-one, my uncle Percy at number thirteen …' Then she blew me an extravagant kiss. She was on top form and there were no signs of withdrawal. What had started out as a traumatic day was turning out well after all. It was becoming a day to remember for the right reasons.

 

*   *   *

 

As Amy's twenty-sixth birthday approached, the situation with alcohol seemed to be turning. She'd had more sober than drunk days over recent weeks, enough that we started to have a lot more confidence in what she was capable of. Especially after she told Raye she wanted to be able to return to the US, to work with her producers, and then ‘Who knows? Maybe do a few gigs over there.' Raye took her to an appointment at the US Embassy, which included a blood test, more in hope than expectation. The appointment went well and he said we'd get a decision within a fortnight. Generally Amy was keeping relatively quiet, playing guitar in her room and for the most part staying away from drink.

On 9 September 2009 John Reid told me that their offices had received a letter from Blake's solicitors with some incredible news. At the end of August, we'd served Georgette with our notice of court proceedings regarding her alleged copyright infringement of Amy's letters. Blake was now offering to drop all claims against Amy – but only if we agreed to drop our case for copyright infringement against Georgette. When I spoke to Amy about the settlement, she was all for it.

The deal with Blake was finalised towards the end of September. He agreed not to make any claim on Amy and we agreed not to pursue our case against Georgette. Pity for him he didn't know that, prior to his offer, we'd been going to offer him £250,000 in a full and final divorce settlement. In the end, he got nothing. My diary sums him up: ‘He's a mug.' On 5 October, I told Amy that our solicitors had confirmed her divorce from Blake was now final. She told me two-thirds of her was happy about it, the other third wasn't. I never managed to get her to explain exactly what she meant, but I assumed it was because he'd recently rented a flat in Sheffield with the money he'd made selling stories to the press.

Though we all hoped Blake was now behind us, I had no illusions that things were going to be totally better. Around her birthday, Amy had a stretch of drinking days. Finally she checked herself into the London Clinic to dry out. She was going to be there for three days, but the next day a
Sun
journalist told me they'd heard Amy was in the London Clinic because she had overdosed on drugs. I soon put him straight.

While Amy was in the London Clinic, she had gynaecological tests carried out, and the results showed pre-cancerous cells in her cervix. It sounded worse than it was, and we were told that it was relatively simple for it to be kept in check. She had been reassured that it wouldn't stop her having children.

When I saw Amy in hospital later on, she told me she was thinking about having her breasts enlarged and had discussed it with a doctor that afternoon. Tyler was there, too, and told me that while they'd been on St Lucia, Amy had gone on about this a few times, constantly comparing herself to some of the other girls on the beach. While I don't approve of plastic surgery
per se
, I didn't mind Amy having this done: after I'd heard Tyler's stories, I felt it might boost her self-esteem and put an end to her doubts, something I always believed stemmed from her drug use and break-up with Blake. Amy had her breast implant procedure at the London Clinic on 8 October. Afterwards she looked great and her confidence increased as I'd expected.

Unfortunately Raye had to pass on the news that Amy's US visa had been refused again. Blood-test results had revealed too much alcohol and cannabis in her system. I decided not to discuss this with her until after her appearance on
Strictly Come Dancing
, which was scheduled for a couple of days later. She was performing in support of her protégeé Dionne Bromfield, who sang on the show with Amy backing her.

After the show, Amy said to veteran host Sir Bruce Forsyth, ‘I used to be really scared of you because you were a baddie in
Bedknobs and Broomsticks
.' Sir Bruce had played the part of Swinburne, a petty criminal who carried a knife, in the 1971 film, which Amy had watched time and time again when she was a little girl. I am not sure whether Sir Bruce was flattered to be remembered by Amy as a knife-carrying petty criminal.

When I finally told Amy that she had failed the drug test for her US visa she was upset, but confessed, ‘I'd had a bit to drink, Dad, and I had some people over. They were smoking and we were up all night.'

On Sunday, 25 October, Amy hosted a birthday party for her brother Alex at the Hadley Wood house, which sadly did not end well. Just as the party was getting going, Amy – who had had too much to drink – asked everybody to leave. Amy and Alex had a row and I said to Amy, ‘This is getting boring now. You may be fed up of hearing me banging on, but I tell you, it's boring and repetitive for Alex, and your mum, and Jane, and me, to have to go through the same things with you now that you're drinking so much.'

Amy apologized to Alex for ruining his party. When Alex had left, Amy told me she had got drunk because she was upset that her US visa application had been declined. I told her it was of her own making and if she really wanted a US visa she needed to stop drinking and stop smoking cannabis.

On 26 October Amy attended the Q Awards at London's Grosvenor House Hotel. Unfortunately this was not her finest hour either. The organizers had booked a suite for her at the hotel to ensure she wouldn't be late arriving. Despite that, she was late, and when she was due to present the Most Inspirational Artist award with reggae singer Don Letts, she was nowhere to be seen. Just as Don Letts presented the award to the Specials, Amy arrived drunk. She pushed her way through the audience and clambered on stage midway through the Specials' acceptance speech. When they had finished, Amy grabbed a microphone and said, ‘I know you've been to these awards a million times but give it up for the Specials,' which brought only muted applause from the crowd. She continued to make a nuisance of herself throughout the evening and heckled veteran Led Zeppelin vocalist Robert Plant during his acceptance speech. As I say, not a good evening.

The next day I was interviewed on
This Morning
, a TV breakfast show, about the previous night's events. ‘Amy has been healthy for the last year,' I said. ‘There is no total recovery. It's a recovery. It's a slow, gradual recovery. If you look back to where we were a year ago, you know we're on a different planet. We're in a different space and a different time and Amy is a different person. We all are. We're all recovering.'

The next few days brought a series of ins-and-outs between the London Clinic and the pubs of Camden. I felt they might as well have installed revolving doors at the Clinic. Each time I saw her when she hadn't had a drink, I congratulated her, as I'd learned was the right thing to do. I tried to be as positive with her as I could. We discussed her going back to the London Clinic, but Amy felt that she was okay dealing with the alcohol problem at Hadley Wood.

But Amy carried on drinking and developed a severe cold. In her drunken state, she took too much Night Nurse and became ill. Andrew took her to the London Clinic in the early hours of 16 November, where she was admitted again. By the time I got there, Amy was completely out of it and looked terrible, although Dr Glynne assured me that it wasn't serious. As I have already mentioned, Amy's powers of recovery were amazing, but though she felt a lot better the next day, this time she wanted to stay at the London Clinic for a few more days.

I went to see Amy the following day and she looked very well. She was a great kid and I'd have done anything for her but sometimes she made me do things for her that I found hard.

‘Dad, I need some underwear,' she said.

‘Okay. I'll go to Marks & Spencer and get you some,' I said.

‘No, Dad, not Marks. Go to Agent Provocateur.'

The fancy lingerie shop? I gulped. ‘Are you kidding? I can't go in there.'

Suffice to say, Amy had her way and I went to Agent Provocateur in Soho, which I found a bit awkward to say the least. I would have been embarrassed saying, ‘I want to buy some knickers for my daughter,' so I said they were for my wife.

Amy was delighted with my purchases, but it was a mistake to tell her how embarrassed I had been. She loved the idea of making me squirm and really knew how to wind me up; she'd done it many times over the years and this time my usual response – ‘Don't ask me to do this, Amy, ask your girlfriends' – had got me nowhere. The next day she sent me back to buy her a baby-doll nightie.

Amy was great with the nurses and patients at the London Clinic. She'd make it her business to get to know people. I'd go in and she'd say, ‘That's Dave over there. He's had an operation on his back … Susan's been in here for six weeks but she's going home tomorrow,' and things like that. Amy knew all the nurses' life stories. She had a brilliant memory when she was sober, and remembered all of their likes and dislikes, the names of their kids and their favourite music. In fact, once Amy had learned a name or a date, she never forgot it. She had a fantastic way with people and the nurses and patients loved her. A number of patients who were in the hospital at the same time as Amy contacted me after she had passed away to tell me how much she had cheered them up.

While Amy was in the London Clinic, she decided to have a tattoo of the Ace of Spades removed from her finger. She'd had it done when she was with Alex Clare, and Blake had never liked it. The
News of the World
decided that she was having it removed because she and Blake had got back together; they ran a story that Amy and Blake had got engaged and were due to marry early in 2010. I didn't respond to it, but when I next saw Amy I confronted her about it. Amy and Blake weren't engaged, but I thought the paper was probably right that Blake was behind her decision to have the tattoo removed. She wouldn't confirm or deny it, which convinced me that I was right.

Then she told me she wanted to have a nose job – she said she wanted it made smaller, that she hated its shape and that she couldn't bear to look at herself in the mirror. I went mad. I understood the reasons behind her wanting the breast enlargement, but this was ridiculous. When I left I just felt miserable and depressed.

Amy left the London Clinic on 25 November, and the next day I went to see her at the Hadley Wood house. She told me she was lonely, depressed, wanted to be with Blake, and didn't want to live in Hadley Wood any more. I told her in no uncertain terms how her family felt about Blake, but I said I could do something about the house. If she wanted to move back to Camden, I'd look into it. Hearing Blake's name again demoralized me: I'd thought Amy was starting to move on, but had to admit that she still loved him.

I called Dr Romete later that afternoon and we talked for a long time about Amy's alcoholism. Once I'd understood a few things, I went online and searched out what I could find about Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) and other approaches to helping recovering alcoholics.

The following day Andrew drove Amy to see Blake in Sheffield. The next day Amy told Raye everything was over between her and Blake. Like Amy's mood, her relationship with Blake seemed to change daily and it was hard for me to keep up. One day she'd decide it was all over between them, the next she was talking to him on the phone for hours.

When I heard that they were supposedly back together, I could take no more. I drove straight over to Hadley Wood where Amy and I had a terrible row about it. It was one of the worst arguments we had ever had. I said horrible things, and regretted them the minute they were out of my mouth. I can hardly bear to write down the words I hurled at her.

‘It's your choice,' I yelled. ‘If you go with him, you risk losing your family.'

Of course, the truth was we'd have stuck by her whatever she decided, but at that point I saw this as a disastrous setback. In Amy's eyes, Blake could do no wrong, despite the numerous stories he was selling to the press around that time. She was determined to get back with him and there was very little any of us could do about it. Amy and I could never stay mad at each other for long, though, and we'd soon put the argument behind us. Sadly, we couldn't move beyond Blake so easily.