Amy, My Daughter

When I got back to London I went on GMTV and did a piece about Amy’s drug addiction. I wasn’t specific and didn’t mention crack cocaine or heroin, but I felt that airing some of her problems might help not only me and my family but also other families in a similar position. It was an incredibly difficult thing to do, and I knew Amy wouldn’t be happy, but after what I’d witnessed on tour I couldn’t see any other way forward, and there was a very positive response from viewers.

A few days later I spoke to Amy. She was meant to be coming home the next day, but she had decided to stay in Europe until the end of the week. She’d heard I’d been on GMTV and was furious, ranting at me. When she paused for breath, I asked, ‘What are you so upset about?’

‘Dad, you said it’s about a father’s struggle to help his daughter or something like that. I don’t want you talking about our problems on TV.’

‘Too bad,’ I said. ‘Let me put you straight on something. I’ll do whatever I need to do to get you off drugs. Don’t you dare lecture me about my family loyalty.’

I was really annoyed, and in the background I could hear Blake whispering to her. The call didn’t end well. Amy must have known how upset I was, though, because she called me back a few minutes later in a much more conciliatory tone.

‘I’ll be honest, darling,’ I replied. ‘I’m struggling here – we all are. We’re just trying to help you. After GMTV I got loads of messages from people who called in, parents saying they were in the same boat as us, and how what I said helped them feel less isolated.’ Then I told her about something that had happened that morning, which made her laugh. The Daily Star had run an ‘exclusive’: ‘Amy Winehouse says she’s had her stomach pumped and an adrenalin injection in her chest…’ I had phoned the paper and explained to them that yes, Amy had had her stomach pumped – but that was months ago – and she had never had an adrenalin injection. They weren’t interested.

‘Yeah, Dad, why let the truth get in the way of a good story?’ she replied. It was my turn to laugh.

The following week Amy performed at the MTV European Music Awards in Munich, where she won the Artists’ Choice award. She sounded great, and the recognition of her peers meant a lot to Amy, so it should have been a special moment, but things were really starting to get on top of me. ‘Very good, another award.’ I wrote in my diary that night. ‘Pity she can’t win an award for kicking drugs.’ I was trying desperately to find a solution but I kept coming back to the same thought: Blake is the problem, but Amy loves Blake. With him around, I felt there could be no solution.

10 A BROKEN RECORD

Despite the success of Back to Black, and the near-constant playing of her songs in clubs, bars, shops and just about everywhere else, 2007 was a bad year for Amy. The papers were savaging her and it seemed there was nothing we could do to stop their regular assaults. Of course, it would end if only she would stop taking drugs. Worse, she was still all-consumed with Blake. Now problems from his past were going to turn Amy’s life upside-down.

Back in 2006, Blake and his friend Michael Brown had been drinking in the Macbeth pub in Hoxton, east London. Run by James King, it was a top music venue frequented by celebrities, including Amy, although she wasn’t there that night. During the evening King had thrown Brown out of the pub, and after the pub closed Brown had taken his revenge. When King left the pub at around midnight, Brown pounced on him and knocked him to the ground. Blake joined in, repeatedly stamping on King and kicking him in the head and body. King was so badly hurt that he needed twelve hours of surgery, with metal plates and bolts to reconstruct his face. Blake and Brown were arrested and charged with grievous bodily harm (GBH) with intent. They pleaded not guilty and the case was transferred to the Crown Court to be heard at a later date.

Now, more than a year later, in November 2007, Blake was due back in court to face the charges. Amy was terrified that he would go to prison and moved some tour dates so she could be in court. She refused to accept he was guilty and I kept my opinion to myself as, more than ever, I needed to be there for her. And I thought it would be the best thing for Amy if Blake did go to prison. At that time, it felt like the only way we’d be able to separate the two of them and, hopefully, help her see just how bad he really was. At the very least, with him in jail, we could help her with her addiction without any interference.

As Amy prepared to go to court, Raye was focused as ever on the positive, going to the US Embassy to try to get a visa waiver for Amy so that she could travel to the States in a few days’ time to appear on some TV talk shows. After some back and forth, he managed to arrange it, on condition that Amy had a drug test the day before she was due to travel. As soon as I heard that, my heart sank. It meant she wouldn’t be going: there was no way she’d pass a drug test.

The following Tuesday Amy failed the drug test – one more opportunity had fallen through because of drugs. As luck would have it, the previous day the Writers’ Guild of America had gone on strike, which meant that the shows Amy was to appear on were cancelled anyway. For once, the media worked in our favour and the stories that emerged about Amy’s cancelled trip attributed it to the writers’ strike.

Even though the failed drug test was not headline news, Amy was upset, and the next day she asked me to meet her. I suggested we went out as Blake was always around, telling her what to think, say and do. We went to the Hawley Arms in Camden Town, where I insisted that we stuck to soft drinks. She was really disappointed that she wasn’t going to the US, and even the arrival of the royalty cheque for ?750,000 from Universal didn’t cheer her up.

I felt like a broken record. She didn’t want me to lecture her and I didn’t want to have to, but I was just so frustrated. ‘It’s your own fault you can’t go to America,’ I told her. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

She couldn’t look at me because she knew I was right and fiddled with a button on her shirt. ‘I know, Dad,’ she mumbled. Then she looked up and I saw something in her eyes that I hadn’t seen for a while. ‘I’m going to try, Dad. I’m really going to try.’

She shuffled her chair closer to mine and I put my arm round her. She rested her head against my neck. ‘I want to clean up my act, Dad.’

I knew she really meant it.

After a while, she stood up. ‘Anyway, Dad, let’s not be miserable any more.’ When she went to the bar to get more soft drinks, I noticed just how fabulous she looked that day. About half an hour later she got into a row with a very drunk girl and ended up slapping her.

Later we went to Soho to get something to eat, but Amy was mobbed by fans and before we knew it the paps were there. We finally found a quiet little bistro and sat down for lunch, but were interrupted constantly by Blake phoning, wanting to know what we were talking about.

Each time he called, Amy would tell him virtually word for word our conversation. It was very annoying, and I asked Amy why she had to do it. She didn’t answer and, to placate me, changed the subject by telling me that it was possible Blake would be willing to sign a post-nuptial agreement. I’d believe that when I saw it. I asked her what she would do if Blake went to prison and she said she’d need to keep busy.

After lunch we were intending to do a little shopping but fans and paps made it impossible so I dropped her back at her flat and went home with mixed feelings. On the one hand, Amy was going to clean up her act. On the other, Blake’s continued presence made that seem less likely to happen.

The following day, I went to the Turkish baths at Porchester Hall. I had just come out of the steam room at about five thirty when I got a call from Alex Foden to say that the police were breaking into Amy’s flat in Camden. Straight away I assumed two things: first, that the police were looking for drugs, and second, that Amy and Blake were at the Camden flat.

In fact, the police were looking for Blake, not drugs, but neither he nor Amy was there. They were at the flat in Bow. I left in a hurry and drove to Bow where I arrived at about six thirty and found them. Still thinking that the police had raided the Camden flat for drugs, I went on a diatribe about drugs to Amy and Blake, who weren’t listening. Unsure of what to do, I called my solicitor, who suggested I bring them to his office and let the police arrest them there.

As we were trying to figure out what to do, we glanced through the window and noticed about five police