Amy, My Daughter (26 page)

 

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April began badly. Amy's drinking lasted just a day, but it was enough to depress me. She seemed to recover fairly quickly, but she was angry with herself. She told me that things were getting better with Reg, but she still didn't see him as much as she'd like to. Reg's work ethic meant that when he was working on a project he totally threw himself into it, often losing track of time. One evening he'd told Amy that he was going to pick her up at ten to go out for dinner. Amy was dressed and waiting, at what she said was ten (but, knowing her, was probably more like eleven), when Reg phoned to say he was still working and was going to be about an hour late. According to Amy, he didn't arrive until two.

‘You need to try and understand how Reg is with his work,' I told Amy.

‘I know, Dad,' she replied. ‘I'll give it a go.'

The next morning Amy called to say she wasn't feeling well. Dr Romete was with her, recommending that she be admitted to the London Clinic as her detox might be causing her to feel ill. I went there about an hour later. Amy wasn't too bad that day, and I stayed with her, chatting, until eleven thirty p.m. The next day she was tetchy as alcohol withdrawal had really kicked in. I was learning these were temporary mood swings, and by 11 April it seemed that she had won the battle. She was well enough to leave the London Clinic for a short time and went to her gym at the Camden Square house. On doctor's orders, she was back at the hospital by eight thirty that evening. The next day Amy told me she couldn't stay in the London Clinic for ever and checked out. I agreed with her and drove her home.

I went to Camden Square on 15 April where Chris, a fairly new member of the security team, told me that Amy had woken up at four a.m. and drunk a bottle of wine. She'd woken again at eight and drunk another. When I arrived at ten thirty she was totally out of it and at midday she was still asleep. When I went back again at seven she was awake and acted as if nothing had happened. This led to a big argument and I left feeling frustrated and angry.

The next day was worse. I arrived at Camden Square mid-morning and found Amy collapsed on the kitchen floor. I got her upstairs and into bed. She was ready to go out and get more booze, but she couldn't even stand up. She did lots of shouting and swearing, and I was just as bad. I didn't know what to do: Amy was determined to get more drink, but in that state, God knows what might have happened to her if she'd got out. Fortunately it wasn't long before she fell asleep, and she remained asleep until the following morning. I told Chris that, in future, if he could do it without Amy seeing, he should water down her drinks. It seemed an unlikely trick to work, but anything that might make her drink less must help.

The next morning when I arrived at Camden Square, Amy was sitting in the garden sipping a latte. Considering the amount of alcohol she had consumed, she looked remarkably well. Neither of us brought up her behaviour of the previous day – I didn't have the energy for another argument – so we had an unusually awkward conversation, both dancing round the subject.

‘Did I tell you? Me and Jane are going to Tenerife again next month,' I said to her.

‘Oh, that's good, Dad,' she replied. ‘Oh, yeah, Anthony's had to call the air-con people. It's on the blink again. Must be nice in the cab when it's warm like this with the air-con.'

‘Oh, it is. I'm taking the cab in for a service on Friday.'

I got up and walked to the end of the garden and looked back at the house, jingling the change in my pocket. It was fabulous. Everything Amy had had done made it very special, the first proper grown-up house she'd owned. I called to her, ‘The place looks great from here, doesn't it? A real home for you.'

‘Yeah, I know, Dad. I love it so much, I can't see me ever moving out.'

It was time for me to go. As I was leaving, Amy stopped me. ‘Dad, sorry about yesterday.'

‘It's okay,' I said. ‘It's just part of getting better.'

‘Aaaah, thanks, Dad,' she said. She got up and ran over to give me a big hug, in the inimitable Amy fashion.

On 21 April Amy told me again that she was through with drinking. I'd heard it all before, and was fully prepared that, after two or three days, she'd start again, but at least she was still acknowledging she had a problem: six months or a year previously she wouldn't accept it and insisted she could stop whenever she wanted to. So, in reality, Amy's statement didn't mean she was going to stop drinking: it meant that she was beginning another period of abstinence, which, every time, I hoped would last longer than it had previously.

Over the next few weeks Amy did really well. Dr Romete was seeing her regularly, and kept telling me how pleased she was with her progress. Amy was a bit miserable and moody, but she was determined to maintain her sobriety.

Then on 11 May she was readmitted to the London Clinic. She wasn't very well and blood tests showed her potassium and glucose levels were high. She was told that this might result in heart problems, which frightened her. Dr Romete felt it might relate to how Amy had been detoxing. She was put on a drip to stabilize any immediate problems, and by the following day she felt a lot better. After another blood test, where the results were normal, Amy was discharged.

She abstained for a while and things looked good. I rang Camden Square one Saturday evening to see how she was doing and Reg answered. Before he passed me over, he said he wanted to tell me they'd just got back from a fabulous day out in the West End. They'd been strolling about after lunch and gone into a bar in Kingly Street where a house band was playing. The two of them had sat down and when the band were about to start their second set, Amy had, on the spur of the moment, called, ‘D'you fancy having a female vocalist with you?'

They immediately invited her up and she sang a whole bunch of songs with them. That was like the good old days, when she'd been so happy to entertain her fans in that way.

I flew to LA two days later, but as soon as I arrived at the hotel, I got a call to say that Amy was drinking again. She had been off alcohol for more than three weeks and I had no idea what had caused her to start again. Everything was going well with Reg, she had started writing songs again, she'd put on all of the weight she'd lost and was looking really good. I really couldn't fathom it, but I reckoned that this was probably the longest spell she'd had of not drinking and I was encouraged by that. The longer between the lapses, the more progress she was making, or so I thought.

On 17 May Raye called: Amy had been rushed to the London Clinic because, after drinking all night, they had been unable to wake her. She'd come round now, and seemed to be responsive, but she was being kept in the hospital for overnight observation. The following day she discharged herself and went home to Camden Square.

A few days later I arrived back in London and went straight to see Amy at Camden Square. She was drunk. Dr Romete was there and told me that she could no longer be Amy's doctor as whatever she said to Amy wasn't going to stop her drinking. She handed me a letter to give to Amy that set out all of her medical problems, along with the events of the previous couple of days. The letter said Amy was in immediate danger of death; it said she had been in a coma on 17 May, and less than twenty-four hours later, against medical advice, she had discharged herself from the London Clinic.

The letter was blunt, matter-of-fact and incredibly shocking. We all knew Amy's life was in danger, but seeing those words spelled out on paper somehow made it much more real and terrifying. I was shaking and tasted bile at the back of my throat. I felt worse than I'd ever felt. It was pointless showing the letter to Amy when she was drunk, so I didn't bother. The next day she was still drunk and all of my hopes for her recovery from alcoholism were dashed.

And so it continued. On 22 May Andrew called me to say that Amy had got up at ten o'clock, drunk half a bottle of wine and gone back to sleep for the rest of the day.

 

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By 24 May Amy was drinking all the time. Riva suggested that we try to persuade Amy to go to rehab at the Priory in Southgate, north London. I thought it was a waste of time, but I said I'd give it a go. Riva and I spent the whole of the next morning trying to get Amy to agree to going into rehab; we even arranged for Dr Brenner from the Priory to come and see her at Camden Square. Amy was very rude to Dr Brenner, but he was used to that and persisted. It wasn't easy, but in the end the three of us managed to persuade her to go.

We got her to the Priory at about two o'clock but she wanted to leave immediately. I stayed with her for a couple of hours and she gradually acclimatized herself to the place and seemed a lot calmer. I knew things were looking up when she asked me to go out and get her some KFC.

Within a couple of days Amy's stay at the Priory had made all the headlines. At first she was desperate to get out, but little by little she seemed more relaxed and agreed she was happy to stay until the end of the month. She was looking much better in herself and, once again, told me how much she wanted to stop drinking.

‘I realize that just saying it isn't going to make it happen, though, Dad.' She was making a great effort to see her problems clearly. ‘I didn't think it would be this difficult. I thought that once I'd quit drugs I could beat anything, but stopping drinking is a lot, lot harder than I'd thought.'

‘You know, darling, if anyone can do it you can,' I said. ‘You've done it once before and so you can do it again. You can be strong enough. You can do it.' I meant every word.

On 31 May Amy checked out of the Priory. She looked marvellous and agreed to return as an outpatient. When I spoke to Andrew later that night he confirmed that Amy hadn't had anything to drink. But when I saw her the next day she got really angry with me for having made her go into the clinic. I was convinced she was looking for an excuse to have a drink. We had a bit of a row before we made up and I left, but I found out later from Andrew that Amy didn't drink that day, so my fears had been unfounded. I asked him if she had been playing her guitar much, or using the studio; he said she hadn't been near the studio but he'd heard her playing up in her room.

I met Raye a few days later and told him that, while she was playing again, I didn't think she was writing much. He wasn't surprised, and said it seemed the album was still some way off. He wasn't sure if she was well enough to tour either. Amy had told us both how much she wanted to get back to live work and she was confident that she would be well enough to perform. There was no denying that the Priory had been of great help to her: Raye and I both felt she was showing signs of beating her alcoholism. Still, we agreed to proceed slowly before finally confirming the Eastern European tour.

Amy continued not to drink for the next week, and when I saw her at Camden Square on 9 June, she was buzzing with excitement about her forthcoming gigs and there was no sign of alcohol withdrawal. We talked about Reg and Blake. She told me that she loved Reg but couldn't help feeling sorry for Blake and wanting to help him.

‘Of course that's your choice, Amy,' I said. She knew I didn't approve of her even talking to Blake, let alone helping him.

‘Yeah, but, Dad, I couldn't not help him, could I?'

I would never have helped him, he was a bad lot. But that was Amy: she found good in everybody, even Blake.

Three days later she did a gig for friends and family at the 100 Club on Oxford Street in the West End. It was a ‘rehearsal' gig for her Eastern European tour later that month. She still wasn't drinking and, apart from a slight sore throat, was in fantastic form. Her band started, playing a few songs without her, then Dionne did a couple of numbers, then Amy arrived on stage. She knew everyone in the audience personally and came on to rapturous applause and cheering. I knew how nervous she had been feeling before the show and I was worried she might have a drink to calm her down, but she didn't. And once she started singing the nerves disappeared.

She was great. She was laughing and joking with the audience, talking to individuals, and poking a bit of fun at me and others in the family. There was a lot of back and forth with the band. At one point Amy looked at the set list, then turned to Dale. ‘Oh, we're not doing that now, are we? I don't want to do that one now, I want to do it later. What shall we do instead?'

Dale laughed and said, ‘Let's do “Valerie”,' and Amy hopped over to him and said, so that we could all hear, ‘No, I'm not doing “Valerie” tonight, what else?'

The whole band laughed. She seemed really relaxed. Her throat was hurting, though, and she asked if anybody happened to have any honey with them. Five minutes later a bottle of honey arrived on the stage. Because she was with friends and family, she said, ‘I'm just going into my dressing room to take some honey quickly. In the meantime, my dad'll sing a few songs for you.'

I nearly fainted. I love singing and I'll do it at the drop of a hat, but I really wasn't prepared – this was Amy's big moment and I'd been totally absorbed in it. But I got onto the stage and told the audience to talk among themselves while I spoke to Amy's pianist to see what songs from my repertoire he could play without music. We quickly sorted some out and, by the time I was halfway through the first song, Amy was standing in the audience cheering and whistling. I assumed that I would finish the song and she would come back onstage. But she shouted, ‘You carry on, Dad,' and I sang a few more.

After that, Amy was back and, to everyone's delight, said to Dale, ‘Right, let's start with “Valerie”,' and she carried on where she'd left off, mixing laughter with her brilliant music. When she performed ‘Rehab', she singled me out from the audience as she sang right at me, ‘My daddy says I'm fine.' I cracked up, along with everybody else. We all had a wonderful time, watching and listening to her that night. It felt more like a party than a gig, and Amy was definitely back to her best.