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Authors: Mitch Winehouse

Tags: #Biography & Autobiography, #music, #Personal Memoirs, #Composers & Musicians, #Individual Composer & Musician

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BOOK: Amy, My Daughter
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Not long afterwards I went back into the London Clinic to prepare for my operation the following day. I was very nervous, but I was reassured by the doctors that I had nothing to worry about. In the end, they were right and the operation was a success. I was in hospital for eleven days and, once again, Amy came to see me every day while I was there. Never once did I think she had been drinking, even when the tabloids tried to stir it up again by printing stories about Reg two-timing her. The mistake the papers made was to suggest he had done this on a date when, in fact, he and Amy had been at home together. She dealt with it in a way that gave me real optimism about her recovery. She was still drinking, but I thought she was staying dry for longer periods every time.

When I saw her at the end of September she looked marvellous. And for once she was concerned about me and all of the weight I'd lost during my illness.

‘I've beaten booze, Dad,' she told me proudly. But it wasn't that simple. We'd been there before with the drugs. I knew she had to take it one day at a time and try not to put herself in situations that might trigger her drinking. I told her I'd met someone at an AA meeting when I was looking into ways of helping her, and he'd introduced himself as an alcoholic but hadn't touched a drop in thirty years. ‘It's something you're going to have to watch for ever, Amy.'

‘You worry too much, Dad,' she told me. ‘I'll be fine.'

In early October I had another gig at a club in the City. Amy said she'd liked to come and watch me rehearse. I arranged to pick her up, but when I got to her flat that afternoon, she was drunk and hadn't slept. She insisted she wanted to accompany me anyway and I reluctantly let her do so. However, that meant we were a bit late, so Amy stayed for the gig as my rehearsal overran. When I started my first number, Amy jumped up on to the stage and stood right next to me the whole time I sang. I did my five songs, then let her do two, which were very good. I told her afterwards that she shouldn't have got up onstage with me, but she couldn't understand why: she'd thought she was supporting me. I'd found it a bit unnerving, to have her just standing there. I told her she wouldn't have done it, had she been sober; it had looked unprofessional. We had to agree to disagree.

The following month I was out of London for a few days doing some gigs. While I was away Amy didn't drink, and each time I spoke to her, I felt more positive about her recovery. I knew she would drink again, but it was beginning to seem that she had a real desire to beat her alcoholism, which she now openly acknowledged. I had learned that was a hugely important step on the road to recovery. I was proud of her. I knew it was tough, but we were making progress, even if it was slow.

After I returned, Amy went to Barbados to work with Salaam Remi for the next week. She had good and bad days with her drinking. According to her security, she was drinking, but she wasn't getting roaring drunk and upsetting people. Unfortunately little recording got done.

When she'd finished in Barbados, she flew to St Lucia where she drank much more. When she called me on 4 December
to wish me a happy birthday she sounded sober, so I asked about her drinking.

‘I'm doing my best, Dad,' she said. ‘Some days it's just so hard …'

There was a long silence. I knew if I let her go on down that road we'd both end up crying, so I changed the subject. We talked about the work being done on the Camden Square house, her new recordings, my gigs, her mosquito bites, my operation scar, Alex and Riva, Reg, Jane and a million other things. We were on the phone for more than two hours, which was a lovely birthday present. Only once more during the call did she come close to breaking down, but she pulled herself back from the brink.

About a week later, she came home and continued to drink. I didn't let her attend my sixtieth birthday party as she had been drunk during the day. Finally she and I had a terrible row when I went to see her at Bryanston Square. It was ten in the morning and she was already drunk. I reminded her that she was due to go to Russia for some gigs the next day and that she wouldn't be capable of flying if she didn't resolve to stop drinking, at least until then. I went back to Bryanston Square later and Amy was so drunk that she couldn't speak. I called Dr Romete, who examined her and suggested I take her to the London Clinic, which I did. She wasn't admitted, and after about three hours I took her home. By that time Amy was sober and determined to go to Russia.

Shockingly she made it to Russia, and two days later, Raye called me to say the gig had been fantastic and that Amy had been ‘absolutely brilliant'. She'd also managed to keep her drinking in check, even though, it being Russia, everybody had tried to give her vodka shots. When I spoke to her she was physically very tired but still mentally exhilarated from the trip.

When they returned, Raye and I had a chat. We were both encouraged that she had managed not to drink before going onstage – that had been her usual method of dealing with stage fright. Performing live was always going to be an important part of her career, so Raye and I were thrilled that she'd found a way to cope without a drink.

On Christmas Day, Jane and I popped in to see Amy at Bryanston Square before we set off for Jane's mum's home and Christmas lunch. Amy had been invited, but she felt, as she was detoxing, the temptation to drink might be too great and decided to stay at home. She didn't drink over the Christmas period, which she was very proud of. I was proud too. It was an amazing achievement, especially since she'd been with friends who were drinking.

On New Year's Eve Amy called me with more good news: she still hadn't had a drink and she and Reg had been talking about getting married. I was delighted. It felt like a perfect end to the year. I knew we weren't out of the woods yet, but Amy had definitely improved and things were going in the right direction. I'd never believed that she would be rid of Blake, but here she was, talking about marriage with Reg. As the year closed, it was hard not to feel that things were moving in the right direction.

‘I feel that overall 2010 was a better year than 2009 and a much, much better year than 2007 and 2008 had been,' I wrote in my last diary entry. ‘There's a lot to look forward to in 2011.'

19
‘BODY AND SOUL'

Cheered by her success in Russia, Amy spent the first days of 2011 rehearsing for her forthcoming trip to Brazil. On 4 January she called to say, ‘I'm ready for my gigs – and I've been sober all year, ha ha.' I couldn't imagine Amy getting on a plane without there being some last-minute drama, but for once there wasn't one and she actually got to the airport in good time.

The next day she rang to say she had arrived safely and to tell me how beautiful Brazil was. The first show was on 8 January and I spoke to Raye before the show: Amy hadn't touched a drop since they had been in Brazil. I hoped she wouldn't need a drink before she got onstage that night and, to my delight, Raye confirmed that she had stuck to water throughout. The show had been fantastic and Amy had performed like the star the audience had been expecting. The press reviews of Amy's first Brazilian show, at the Summer Soul Festival in Florianópolis, were sensational.

While Amy didn't sing any new original songs, she did perform two new covers that she was thinking of including on her third album. As with her lyric books, she squirrelled away notes about any new song she was told about or heard and liked, and she was happy to sing a cover as long as she liked the song and could put her own spin on it. The two she chose here were Little Anthony and the Imperials numbers ‘I'm On The Outside Looking In' and ‘Boulevard Of Broken Dreams'. The latter was the one written for the 1934 film
Moulin Rouge
and made popular by Tony Bennett, not the Green Day hit from 2004.

Amy did five shows in Brazil, the last on 16 January. I spoke to her after her performance, which she said had gone very, very well. She also told me, proudly, that she still hadn't had a drink and that it was more than two weeks since she had had any alcohol. I was extremely pleased when I heard that, and said to Jane, ‘I didn't think she could do it, if I'm honest. I didn't want to tell her or say anything to her before, because it's no good her thinking I've still got doubts about how long she can keep it up, but I didn't think she'd make it this far.' Still, I couldn't bring myself to tell everyone I felt optimistic because I knew I couldn't take any more disappointment.

When Amy got back to the UK, we talked on the phone for more than an hour, with her telling me all about Brazil. She was completely sober and reiterated her desire to stay that way. I had been to see the Camden Square house and all of the work had been completed. It looked great and we discussed when she might move in. The next day I saw Amy and she looked great – she had even put on some weight while she was away. She told me, apologetically, that she had had one or two drinks the previous evening. I didn't berate her: it was only to be expected. I reminded her that it was similar to when she was quitting drugs. Then she had lapsed on numerous occasions. Sadly, I knew a lot about the habits of addicts now. It was only natural to lapse in the process of getting clean.

Frustratingly there were always risks alongside the relapses. One morning I had an early call from American Blake, who was in the US. He had been talking to Amy on Skype when she'd had a seizure. I immediately called security at the Langham hotel, where Amy was still staying, and they rushed to her room. When they got there she was fine and, like most people who have this horrible experience, had no recollection of the seizure. I told Amy I was coming over, but she tried to persuade me that it was unnecessary: she felt okay, and she was going to sleep. I drove over anyway. When I arrived Amy was asleep and I woke her up. She didn't look very well so I took her to the London Clinic, where she was admitted for observation, though she had not been drinking.

I'd thought for a long time that it was risky for Amy to detox without medical supervision and after her latest seizure she agreed. The next day I saw Dr Romete, who said that Amy's detox could lead to seizures, which she was prone to anyway. I asked her to try to come up with a plan for Amy to detox with medical supervision.

In the morning Amy felt a lot better. I put this down to her being in her ‘safe place', the London Clinic, where she wanted to stay for now. Over the next week, she continued to do well there and I saw her almost every day. When she was discharged, I picked her up and went with her to Selfridges to buy some essentials for the Camden Square house, which she moved into that day. Her security guys had moved in a week earlier.

I parked the cab outside the house, and Amy marched up the steps to the front door, leaving me to struggle with the shopping. She ran from room to room, telling me which bag to plonk where, and was as excited as I'd seen her for ages. ‘Put that one there to go down to the gym, Dad,' she called over her shoulder.

Next to the gym was her studio. She'd had her kitchen put in on the ground floor, looking out over the front, and it had a lovely retro feel, black and white with a black table. I followed Amy into the lounge, which was huge. At one end there was a gaudy 1960s-style jukebox, which Amy had ordered specially.

‘Oh, good,' I said, teasing her. ‘When I'm fed up with you I can go and kick your jukebox, can't I?'

Amy ran over to it – the thing was on casters and it rolled into the corner when she threw herself across it to protect it from me. ‘No, Dad, no.' She laughed.

We wandered round the rest of the house together, and when we came out of her studio I noticed she was clutching the guitar we'd bought in Spain what seemed a lifetime ago. I was pleased to see it: maybe she was going to start writing seriously again. When it came time for me to leave, she threw her arms around me and said, ‘Thanks for getting me the house, Dad.'

I rang her a couple of days later, and when she answered I could hear she was still strumming her guitar, the phone cradled in her shoulder. She sounded different, in a good way. ‘I know you didn't really want me back in Camden, Dad,' she said, ‘I know you thought it was the wrong place for me, but I gotta tell you, I feel like I belong here.'

I was going to defend myself but she continued, ‘Thanks again for sorting this out for me, Dad. I'll call you later because I'm working.'

It was the same over the next few days: she was always too busy to chat for long, which was great. I hadn't seen her focus like that since those days in Spain when she'd locked herself away and written a lot of
Back to Black
. Creating music – her greatest passion – seemed to be doing her more good than anything else we'd all tried.

However, one day in early February, I went to Camden Square at lunchtime and found that Amy had already had quite a lot to drink. She wasn't drunk, but if she'd had another couple of drinks, she would have been. ‘Let's have a cup of tea,' I said, and brought it to her in the lounge. I really wanted to tell her off, but I knew that would be wrong right now. Instead, I said, ‘Don't worry, these things happen.'

‘I never went to bed last night, Dad,' she replied, ‘and when I finished working I couldn't sleep and needed something to help me wind down.'

‘Maybe you can go to sleep now, darling,' I said. I covered her up on the couch, told Anthony, the security guy, to keep an eye on her and left. I wrote in my diary: ‘Are we back to square one or is this just a blip? She didn't seem to show any remorse for her drinking today. We've come so far we
mustn't
fall at the last hurdle.'

Despite setbacks like this, it seemed to me that the pattern of her drinking had changed. She was putting her work first and her periods of abstention were longer. Of course she'd have lapses, but overall she seemed to be pulling things together.

As Amy prepared to fly to Dubai for a gig, she told me that, once again, she had stayed dry for it. It didn't last. After the gig Raye texted that it hadn't been great. Technical problems had led to Amy's earpiece not working, meaning she couldn't hear herself sing. Other technical problems meant that some of the crowd, especially people at the back, couldn't hear very well, and after three songs some of the audience had left. If that wasn't bad enough, Raye also told me that Amy had had quite a few drinks before she went on. ‘What a disaster,' I wrote in my diary that night. ‘Just when I thought that work would get her through the drinking, this happens. Technical problems or not, she can't go onstage drunk.'

Surprisingly, when Amy returned from Dubai, she seemed more or less okay, despite the disappointment of the show and the setback with her drinking. Before long, she'd had four non-drinking days. Riva had been going to see her every day and Amy's friend, Naomi, had moved in. Amy, Riva and Naomi got on very well together. Tyler told me that Amy had said she was sick of being drunk and wanted to stop drinking altogether. When I saw her next she reiterated it to me. I knew that she meant it; I also knew that there were likely to be more lapses before she finally stopped drinking.

Nonetheless, now that Naomi lived with Amy, and Riva went there every day, I began to feel cautiously optimistic about Amy stopping drinking. Naomi and Riva both reported, on 2 March, that Amy hadn't had a drink for six days. I had seen for myself that she hadn't been drinking, but Naomi and Riva set my mind at rest.

The following day Raye took Amy to the US Embassy for her interview about getting a US visa. Afterwards he told me it had gone well and he was optimistic this time that a visa would be granted. When I saw Amy she opened up to me about Reg: they were not seeing each other for the time being and she was really upset about it. We spoke for at least an hour about their relationship, and although it was far from over between them, I understood how she felt about not seeing him. Reg had been working very hard and had been away a lot, shooting a film on location in Scarborough, North Yorkshire.

‘I tell you what,' I said to her, ‘this is what you should do. When he's back, sit down with him and tell him exactly how you feel.'

‘He knows I love him, Dad,' Amy interrupted. ‘I keep asking him to move in.'

‘So what's the problem? That's great.' I was pleased for them both.

‘He won't, Dad. He doesn't want people to think he's a sponger.'

Unlike Blake, I thought, but didn't say.

‘But I don't care, Dad,' she carried on, ‘because he's not, you know that.'

‘I do. We all like Reg. He's a great bloke. You've got to keep at it with him, and you'll get there, darling,' I said.

On a more positive note, Amy hadn't been drinking, although I worried that, with Reg still away, she might start again. She didn't – well, not that day.

Looking back, 6 March seemed like another turning-point for Amy. Riva called me from Camden Square to say that Amy was drunk and self-harming. Jane and I immediately drove to the house. When we arrived Amy wasn't very drunk, but she had cut herself. She said it was a delayed reaction to not seeing Reg and a response to something that had happened with Blake. My heart sank, but as soon as I'd heard she'd cut herself, I'd known his name would crop up. A week or so earlier he had been arrested by Leeds Police and charged with burglary and possessing a firearm. Amy was convinced it was related to drugs.

Riva talked about trying to get Amy sectioned, but I told her that we had to let this play itself out. We had been unable to get Amy sectioned when she had been a thousand times worse than she was now, so I knew it would be a non-starter. I stayed with Amy for the rest of the day and when she'd sobered up we had a long talk.

She told me some of what had happened the previous night, but it wasn't what I'd expected. ‘When I was in the pub toilets, some girl came up to me,' she said. ‘She asked me if I'd come and say hello to her friend who was a big fan and that. I went to the table and sat down and she was in a wheelchair. I talked with her for a while, and I asked her to be honest. Was she finding it tough to get by? I knew she was so I ended up giving her all the money I had on me. It was nearly a hundred pounds. She didn't want to take it but I told her she'd got to. I insisted. That left me with nothing to pay my bar bill.'

‘That's a lovely story, Amy, and it was very kind of you,' I said. ‘D'you remember when you met that disabled kid in Nice airport?'

‘Nice?' She looked puzzled. ‘Oh, yeah, the mum said she was scared to come over in case I hit her. Ha ha ha. I was doing that then, wasn't I?'

‘You weren't doing too well then, no, but the mum got in touch with me after and said you were great with her daughter. You spent an hour talking with her and she was thrilled. You're a good girl, Amy.'

She sighed. ‘Dad, seeing that girl last night made me realize how lucky I am. I really, really am fed up with all this,' she added. ‘I've decided I'm done with drinking and I mean it this time.'

I took it with a pinch of salt – I'd heard it so many times before, first with drugs and then with alcohol – but I can't deny that part of me still clung to the hope that this might be the start of the final stretch in Amy's recovery.

For the next few days she stayed away from drink, and when Raye came over to see her she still hadn't had any. She had an important decision to make: Tony Bennett had arranged to sing with her on his second album of duets, and Amy was due to choose the song that morning. Tony had given Raye five or six for her to pick from. Amy chose ‘Body And Soul', her reason being, ‘My dad loves it.'

I was very flattered. ‘That's great,' I said. ‘Do you know the words?'

‘Of course I know the words, Dad.' She laughed. ‘I'm your daughter. You've been singing “Body And Soul” to me for twenty-seven years.'

That was true. I'd belted it out in the car when I'd picked her up from school loads of times.

I was pleased when Amy told me her non-drinking was continuing and we spoke about her flat in Jeffrey's Place. Naomi had lived there for a while, but now that she was with Amy, it was empty. It had fallen into disrepair and looked dilapidated. Jane and I were still living in Kent, and Amy said that, during her recovery, she would be happier if we lived closer to her. She suggested that we get the flat fixed up and that Jane and I could stay there, for at least part of the week. I thought that was a great idea, and when I ran it past Jane, so did she.

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