Amy, My Daughter (27 page)

Later, in her dressing room, her caring side showed once again. ‘How's your glandular fever?' she said to my friend Paul's daughter.

She hadn't seen Katie for about a year – I couldn't believe she'd remembered. I'd seen Katie many times, but had totally forgotten she'd been ill.

 

*   *   *

 

Amy stayed dry for another five days, and I was feeling very positive about her Eastern European tour. But on 17 June, the day before she was due to fly to Serbia, I knew something was wrong the minute I arrived in Camden Square. ‘I don't want to do the tour, Dad,' she said, after a short time.

I was surprised. It had been planned since the start of 2011 and it was definitely something that Amy had wanted to do. Raye and I had had our reservations about it but had kept faith with Amy's desire to play to her fans in Eastern Europe.

She had been saying for ages how bored she was and my response had been, ‘Get out there and do what you do best – make music. Do a tour or go back into the studio.'

And for the last few months, when Amy hadn't been drinking, she had got very involved with the arrangements. She always played an integral part in establishing the look of her live gigs, getting heavily involved with her band's clothes, the production, the lights, just about everything. Right from
Back to Black
she had had a very clear idea of how she wanted her three backing singers to look onstage. Because she was so into fifties/sixties style she'd once made Raye go into the costume department at the BBC to hire three baby blue dinner suits for them. She named the trio the Nights Before and, at her final gigs, decided she wanted them to wear peach-coloured suits.

But now she was saying she wanted to cancel the tour. I couldn't understand what had changed and she couldn't explain it to me. All I could get out of her was that she didn't want to do it – and whether it was to do with stage fright, or the fear that she'd return to drinking, I never could get out of her.

By the next day Amy had changed her mind again and wanted to do the tour. I was still apprehensive that she might back out or start drinking, but I spoke to her before she got on the plane and she sounded fine. Raye agreed to give me a running commentary, so over the next forty-eight hours I got constant calls and texts: ‘She's in the hotel room', ‘She's in the car', ‘She's at the venue', ‘She's on the stage …'

Then, at two forty-five a.m. on 19 June, Raye phoned to say that the gig had been a complete shambles.

Amy had been in a funny mood in the car on the way there. She wasn't drunk, but she had been agitated in her hotel room and wanted a drink; so Raye had allowed her one glass of wine to calm her down. Amy would often ask people to give her drinks once she was on stage. But that didn't happen in Belgrade: she was drunk before she got onstage. Neither Raye nor Tyler, who were both with her that day, have any idea how she'd got drunk but she must have smuggled some alcohol into the gig, or got someone to do it for her.

So, that night in Belgrade Amy went onstage drunk, and it showed. Her performance was disastrous and much of the audience were booing. She couldn't remember what city she was in, or the lyrics of her songs, or even the names of her band members. Throughout, Raye was trying to pull her off the stage, but she wouldn't leave. She stayed for ninety minutes. Her gigs normally lasted seventy-five. It was the worst ever.

They left the gig and went straight to the airport. All the way, Amy was demanding a drink in the car, but Raye wouldn't let her have one. On the plane she asked Raye if it was the worst gig she had ever done.

‘Yep,' Raye replied. ‘It's right up there with Birmingham.' He told her off for letting everybody down. But Amy didn't like what she was hearing, and argued back, then went off and sulked at the back of the plane.

The next gig was in Istanbul, and when they arrived Amy apologized to everyone.

‘This stops here,' Raye said. ‘You can't go out and work like this. It's ridiculous. If you don't want to do these gigs, then we don't do them. But these are a nice run of shows. We're going to places that we haven't been to before, playing in front of people that haven't seen you before, people that really want to see you. You went onstage and done that. Why? What was the problem?'

Amy gave him the Amy shrug. She said she didn't know the answer.

Raye cancelled all the remaining gigs.

I wondered why she couldn't say anything to anyone, including me, about this. Did she feel she was letting everyone down if she told me that quitting drinking was harder than she'd thought, even after everything we'd been through together? Did she still want to try and deal with everything on her own? Did she not know that whatever she needed from me I'd have given her?

Amy knew she didn't have to do those gigs if she didn't want to: Raye had told her so over and over again. But Amy loved being with her band and she had really wanted to do that tour. And Raye had thought that going ahead with it might help get her creative juices flowing again. Amy often said that she was bored singing the same old songs. ‘Write some new ones, then,' we'd replied.

I'm not sure that it was actually boredom, though. I think it was only the
Back to Black
songs that she didn't want to sing. ‘Wake Up Alone', ‘Unholy War' and ‘Back to Black' seemed to be the hardest for her.
They reminded her of Blake, and a time in her life that, understandably, she wanted to forget. Raye thought singing those songs triggered memories of the drug spiral she had been in and that that was one reason why she would drink so much before she performed.

I don't know if that was the case or not, but Raye had worked closely with Amy's musical director, Dale Davis, to make sure the
Back to Black
songs were interspersed with covers and songs from
Frank
. They didn't want to have a build-up of songs that reminded Amy of that hellish time. Dale would present the set list to her and, as she trusted him implicitly, she never queried it. This seemed to be working, so we know the songs weren't to blame for Amy's behaviour that night in Belgrade.

Everything was fine with Reg, so we know it wasn't that. And Blake was a thing of the past. So, what had caused this lapse? We only found out later that Amy had suffered from the worst case of stage fright she had ever had.

At the time I despaired, thinking Amy was going back to drinking regularly. We had no understanding of what was going on. ‘My daughter needs help and we are all helpless,' I wrote that night.

But I was absolutely wrong. Amy didn't drink again until a couple of days before she passed away.

20
‘GIVE ME A CUDDLE, DAD'

Over the next few days I had a lot of tweets blaming me for Amy's performance in Belgrade. ‘How could you let her go on like that?' her fans asked. ‘You should have known this would happen.'

No one knew what Amy had been through during the preceding months. No one knew she hadn't touched a drop for weeks before the Belgrade gig. Neither did they know how much her music was helping her at this time. A lot of people blamed me, and a lot of people blamed Amy's management, but I knew that Raye wasn't to blame. Amy had definitely wanted to do the tour and the comments were incredibly hurtful.

On 20 June, two days after the Belgrade gig, Reg flew to Istanbul to meet Amy. Once he was there, she seemed a lot better: she was calmer and able to think rationally about the future again. She didn't want to do any more live work until she got her stage fright under control, and she decided she'd rather spend her time working in her home studio, with her next album still some way off. I knew that
Back to Black
had come about when she'd felt she had a coherent whole, based on the girl-group sound she loved. I don't think she ever found the same guiding inspiration to bring together the ideas she had for a new album.

On 22 June Amy came home. She looked much better, but I was being careful what I said to her and it was Amy who brought up the Belgrade gig. She told me how disappointed she'd been with herself once she'd sobered up. She didn't like what alcoholism was doing to her, or to her family and Reg. She felt terrible about letting everyone down. And then she told me all about her stage fright. She hadn't felt up to the tour, and for hours before the first gig she'd been shaking with nerves. She'd thought that a couple of drinks might help, but they didn't, so she'd had some more.

‘All the time I was drinking, Dad, I was thinking how much I hate this,' she said. ‘I really, really want to stop. I really don't want to go through all this shit again. Every time something happens. You believe me, don't you?'

‘Of course I do,' I told her. ‘But I can't make these things stop. You're always going to be around alcohol, and in situations where you're going to want to drink again. You've got to find the will to stop it yourself.' All I could do was encourage her. I knew she hated what kept happening, but I had no way of knowing how long it would be before she took to drink again.

That day was a bit strange. Amy and I spent an hour or two together and, after we'd talked about Belgrade, she was very reflective. She spoke a lot about my mum, which we often did, and then, which was unusual, she wanted to watch some clips of her live performances on YouTube. ‘Do you think I'm good, Dad?' she asked, after we'd watched a bit.

‘Of course you are,' I said. ‘You know you are.'

Then she asked, ‘Dad, do you think I'm beautiful?'

‘I think you're the most beautiful girl in the world,' I replied, ‘but you're asking the wrong person. I'm your father.'

Until then, she had never, as far as I knew, watched herself like that – she wasn't very interested in looking back – and it was the first time I could remember when she'd taken time to study herself in that way. It wasn't so much about her self-image – I knew she'd had problems with that in the past, but she seemed over those now; this time she was coolly examining her own performance, and seeing what made her special.

‘Just give me a cuddle, Dad,' she said, and we sat together for about an hour, me holding her in my arms. It was lovely, a very special moment, but at the time I didn't attach any importance to it. It would be easy to think that she had some sort of premonition, but I don't really believe that. I think it was just a lovely moment.

 

*   *   *

 

The next day I saw Amy again. Mostly we talked about the work she needed to do for her new album. I had a sneaky scout around the house for alcohol, but there was none. I saw Amy most days over the following two weeks, and on the days I didn't see her I spoke to her on the phone. Gradually our conversations stopped featuring the word ‘alcohol' and I was content that, for the time being, she had stopped drinking.

On Sunday, 10 July, Jane and I had a lovely day with Amy at Camden Square. We had lunch and then just whiled away the time, talking and listening to music. Amy had done an impromptu DJ set at one of the local pubs that week and she was really into her record collection. It was a normal family Sunday.

The next day Amy called to say she was going to a local bar to play pool. I was concerned: for Amy, playing pool in a bar was synonymous with drinking. I phoned Andrew, the security guy, immediately and told him to call me the minute she had a drink. But he didn't call. He didn't need to. As soon as they'd arrived Amy had gone to the bar and told the owner, ‘Do not sell me alcohol under any circumstances.' That night I wrote in my diary, ‘I'm very proud of Amy. This is very positive.'

On 14 July we spent the day together again. Amy had searched the Internet and found some dance remixes of ‘Please Be Kind', one of the songs on my album. We listened to them together – Amy thought they were pretty good – and jokingly said, ‘I tell you what, Dad, I'll take these down with me next time I do some DJing and before you know it you'll be number one in the dance charts.'

‘What – you going to do this regularly, then? Hope they're paying you,' I joked.

‘Oh, shut up! I love doing it, Dad. I feel like I can do anything I want here in Camden. It's like my playground. But when I've had enough I can come home here where it's all peace and quiet and I feel safe.'

I was flying to New York on 22 July for some gigs, so the day before I left I went to Camden Square to say goodbye to Amy – this was when she showed me the photos she'd found. She told me she was going to see Dionne perform at the iTunes Festival at the Roundhouse in Camden that night; I told her to wish Dionne good luck from me. When we spoke the next day, she told me she'd had a great time at the Roundhouse: Dionne had invited her on to the stage and she had danced while Dionne sang.

Sadly, that was Amy's last public appearance.

On Saturday, 23 July 2011, my darling daughter Amy passed away.

21
FAREWELL, CAMDEN TOWN

I arrived back at Heathrow airport on the morning of Sunday, 24 July. My friend Hayden picked me up and drove me to his house in north London where Jane was waiting for me. We cried and cried until it seemed there were no tears left.

We went to Janis's house not far away and we all cried some more. Alex and Riva were already there and people continued to arrive throughout the day. I was in a daze and I don't really remember much of what went on. Things were happening around me and I felt removed from the scene, as if I was watching a movie.

I kept asking myself, how could this have happened?

I had seen Amy the day before I flew to New York and she was fine. Janis, Richard and Reg had seen her the next day and she was fine. And she was still fine later that night – although, according to Andrew, she was ‘tipsy'. When Andrew checked on her a bit later, she was singing and playing drums in her room. He had checked on her again in the morning and thought she was asleep. Then he checked a few hours later and realized she wasn't asleep. Immediately he had raised the alarm.

A lot of people believe that Amy's life was in turmoil during her last eighteen months. But nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, she had lapses back into alcoholism, but those lapses had been gradually getting further and further apart. There was no doubt in those around her that her life was going in the right direction. I always equated Amy's neatness, or lack of it, to how well-ordered her mind was at any particular time. During those last eighteen months the clothes in her wardrobes were neat and tidy, her books and CDs were organized alphabetically and her sketchbooks numbered.

I knew that Amy couldn't have died from a drug overdose, as she had been drug-free since 2008. But although she had been so brave and had fought so hard in her recovery from alcoholism, I knew she must have lapsed once again. I thought that Amy hadn't had a drink for three weeks. But she had actually started drinking at Dionne's Roundhouse gig the previous Wednesday. I didn't know that at the time.

The following morning Janis, Jane, Richard Collins (Janis's fiancé), Raye, Reg and I went to St Pancras mortuary to officially identify Amy. Alex couldn't bring himself to go, which I fully understood. When we arrived there were loads of paps outside the court, but they were all very respectful. We were shown into a room and saw Amy behind a window. She looked very, very peaceful, as if she was just asleep, which in a way made it a lot harder. She looked lovely. There was a slight red blotchiness to her skin, which was why, at the time, I thought she might have had a seizure: she looked as she had done when she had had seizures in the past.

Eventually the others left Janis and me to say goodbye to Amy by ourselves. We were with her for about fifteen minutes. We put our hands on the glass partition and spoke to her. We told her that Mummy and Daddy were with her and that we would always love her.

I can't express what it was like. It was the worst feeling in the world.

Then we went to Camden Square, where we were joined by Alex and Riva. The police were still investigating the possibility of foul play, so we weren't allowed inside the house. But hundreds of fans were there and they had turned the square into a shrine. We gathered together and looked at the tributes left at the edge of the police cordons. I thanked the reporters and fans for coming, and shook hands with many of them, fighting back the tears. There were drinks and cigarettes, some beautiful notes and lovely artwork, soft toys, flowers and candles. It was very touching and comforting to know how much Amy was loved. Eventually I broke down and couldn't stop crying.

After that we went back to Janis's house where our friends and other members of the family were waiting. I told them what had come into my mind during the bleak hours over the Atlantic as I'd flown home. ‘I started thinking of a Foundation,' I said. ‘Amy's Foundation. So that disadvantaged young people dealing with addiction, ill health or homelessness can be supported.'

I hadn't thought much more than that but the idea was out there now. Gradually others started adding to it, and it grew.

The post-mortem examination was inconclusive. The Metropolitan Police said, ‘It did not establish a formal cause of death,' and that they were awaiting the results of further toxicology tests, which were not expected for two to four weeks. In the meantime, the police treated Amy's death as unexplained.

An inquest was opened and adjourned until 26 October to allow us to make the funeral arrangements.

In the Jewish tradition a funeral must take place at the earliest opportunity and, since the coroner had released the body, the funeral could take place the following day, 26 July. Certain branches of Judaism do not permit cremation, but my mother had been cremated and we thought that was what Amy would have wanted for herself when she was to be reunited with her Nan Cynthia. There was so much to do and my marvellous friends rallied round us to ensure that everything that had to be done was done, in time for the service and cremation. I started to write Amy's eulogy.

 

*   *   *

 

Amy was cremated at the Golders Green Crematorium in north London on 26
July 2011, a service just for family and friends, in the same hall we had used for my mother's funeral in May 2006. Following the service, we filed outside into the gardens, leaving Amy's security boys to look after Amy in death as they had done in life. They emerged ten minutes later and I knew that it was over.

We then went on to the Schindler Hall in Southgate, north London, for the beginning of the
shiva
, the Jewish period of mourning: each evening, for the following three days, hundreds of family and friends came to pay their respects and join us in prayer. The
shiva
eases the pain just a little bit. My dear friends wouldn't leave my side during the days that followed, which was a great comfort to me.

Before the cremation, there had been a service for Amy in the prayer hall at the Edgwarebury Jewish cemetery in north London. When we'd arrived at the cemetery that morning, I was still in a daze and felt that it wasn't really happening. I just couldn't take it in. The service was by invitation only and there must have been five hundred people inside the hall, and at least another five hundred outside. We said prayers in English and Hebrew, and ended the service with a recording of Carole King's ‘So Far Away' – Amy's favourite song.

Before that, I read my eulogy, most of which had been written the day before. I had deliberately left gaps, where I didn't need the written word to know what I wanted to say:

 

Family and friends. We are here to celebrate the life of our darling daughter Amy. I could say that Amy was the most iconic singer of the twenty-first century. I could say that Amy has sold over 22 million CDs, I could say that Tony Bennett said that Amy was the greatest singer since Ella Fitzgerald. But what I will say is that Amy Winehouse was the greatest daughter, family member and friend that anyone could wish for. My friends and Janis's friends were Amy's friends.

 

I told the congregation the stories I've written here about Amy's youth, about her games and how she would play up; I told them about the times she'd spent at her various schools, the friends she'd made then and later within the music industry.

 

Amy's friends were lifelong and deep. Tyler, Naomi, Jevan, Catriona, Chantelle, John and Kelly, Nicky Shymansky, Lucian Grainge, all at Metropolis and 19 Management and, of course, Raye Cosbert, Selena and Petra. Raye is more than Amy's manager: he is our brother and our guide. Amy's boys – Andrew, Anthony, Neville and Chris – are family to us. I would trust my life to them. Their care and patience over the years have been outstanding.

 

I wanted to explain to people what we knew about Amy's last days, as there had been lots of incorrect speculation in the papers that I wanted to address.

 

Recently Amy had found love with her new boy Reg and he had helped her deal with many of her problems; she was looking forward to their future together. She was happier than we had seen her in a long while … really happy.

Three years ago she conquered her drug dependency and she was really trying hard to deal with her alcohol problems. She had just had three weeks of abstinence and was really very content with her life.

She had been told by her doctor, Christina Romete, that drinking and then abstaining was perhaps worse than carrying on drinking, as it screws up your electrolytes and can bring on seizures, which could result in death.

Sadly, Amy was prone to these seizures.

But let me stress that Amy was not depressed … I had seen her on the Thursday before I went to New York, and Janis, Richard and Reg saw Amy on the Friday. She was on top form.

That night Amy was in her room playing her drums and singing. As it was getting late, Andrew told her to quieten down. She did so and Andrew heard her walking around for some time later.

He then went to check her and thought she was asleep on the bed. Several hours later he checked on her again and realized she hadn't moved in that time. She had gone.

So that was it. We are all left here bereft and stunned. Janis's and my baby has gone. She was the light of all of our lives and will, together with Alex and Riva, remain the light of our lives.

 

I wanted to say something about the special talent my daughter had been blessed with. I spoke about how she'd done what she'd told Sylvia Young she wanted to do all those years ago. As a family we wanted people to continue to find their troubles eased by Amy's voice.

 

Amy's last gig was at the 100 Club. Her voice was good but her wit and timing were perfect. Everyone enjoyed themselves … most of all Amy. She had a terrific generosity of spirit, which always shone through.

Her legacy will remain.

Reg and Tyler, Janis and Richard, Alex and Riva, Janey and I will somehow have to find a way to continue without Amy. It will be hard. But we have you lot to support us … and together we will get through this.

 

I told them a little about my mother and Amy, and then I continued:

 

Richard recently showed me an old school book of Amy's from 1995. This was from just after Janis and I divorced … Amy drew a heart and split it into sections of things that she loved the best. She wrote: Alex, her mum, and me, her dad. This was just after I had left the house … she wrote that she missed me.

I had never seen this before.

In the last entry in the school book she wrote: ‘I love to live … and I live to love.' She was just twelve years old.

Good night, my angel, sleep tight.

Mummy and Daddy love you so much.