rehab, he would not allow her to perform at the Grammys or the BRIT Awards either. His concern was that Amy would make a laughing stock of herself. She might have been number one in the charts in France, Germany, Spain and Italy, but he was worried about the fallout for Universal.
This was serious. While he was not talking about Universal dropping Amy, he was insistent that she had medical treatment in rehab. It was clear that his intentions were good and that he, like all of us, just wanted to see Amy back to her best so she could use her talent. I had been through so much with her over the last year that I had serious doubts about her agreeing to go to rehab. Lucian, though, was adamant, telling me to bring Amy to a meeting at Universal at one o’clock the following day. If she failed to show up, no excuse would be acceptable.
The next day I went to collect Amy to take her to the meeting. Of course she wasn’t ready but after a lot of messing about we eventually left. On our journey Raye called to say that Amy was going to be arrested on drugs charges relating to the
For once, a doctor wasn’t leading the discussion, which might have been helpful. Lucian laid down the law, instructing Amy that unless she went into rehab that day he would stop her working. Resistant as she was to the idea, she couldn’t ignore the threat to her career. With that, and reinforcement from everyone else in the room, she reluctantly agreed to be admitted to Capio Nightingale, a leading private psychiatric hospital in London’s St John’s Wood.
That day I drove her there, but it wasn’t long into the journey that she started to change her mind, pleading with me to stop the cab and turn round, swearing she’d beat it herself and didn’t need to go into hospital. In the end I didn’t literally have to drag her in, but it was a struggle. She calmed down a bit but once she was in her own room, she kicked off again and threatened to kill herself. I didn’t believe a word of it because I’d heard all this in the car, but the doctors ran in from the corridor, now convinced that she was a threat to herself, and told me they would section her, which meant she would be compelled to remain in hospital if she tried to leave. For someone to be sectioned, their doctor, clinical psychologist and the local area health authority have to agree to it, which, given the state Amy was in, they would have done.
During the initial consultation I broke down several times. What a terrible thing it was to see my baby in that situation, but I knew she was in the best place. It was breaking my heart to see her so distressed and I had to bury my natural instinct to scoop her up and take her away from what was scaring her, and the horrible days ahead. I knew this time I couldn’t fix it and that she had to go through each step of the recovery process. On her own.
Later that evening Kelly Osbourne came to see her, and I left them to it while I drove back to Bow to collect some things Amy needed. When I got back to the hospital at about eleven o’clock, she seemed more settled, which was good for everyone. I learned later that if she had left the clinic, she would have been arrested over the
To stop unwanted calls or callers at the hospital, we devised a password system. The password was ‘Gordon’, my mother’s maiden name. I called the hospital early the next day and spoke to Dr Pierides, who said that Amy had had a comfortable night and they were sedating her so she could rest. He thought it was best that she had no visitors that day.
Rest was a crucial part of the programme for the first few days, and Amy spent quite a bit of time sleeping. At one point, Raye spoke to Blake who surprisingly said he was pleased that Amy was in hospital. As much as I didn’t care about his opinion, it would be important for Amy that she had his support in her recovery when she got out.
His mother, though, was anything but supportive. As Amy was trying to get clean, a different drama was unfolding around Blake. Once again he had been refused bail. Before Amy had gone into treatment, Georgette had been hounding her about paying his legal fees. Given Amy’s position in relation to Blake’s case, no one thought that was a good idea. Numerous solicitors had said as much. While Amy remained a suspect, it could be detrimental to her case to pay Blake’s legal fees. Still, Amy wanted to help Blake, and I’d attempted several times to talk her out of it. Eventually she agreed, reluctantly, to wait until she was cleared of charges before she paid for Blake.
Needless to say, Georgette was not happy about any of this. On Sunday, 27 January, an interview with Georgette and Giles was published in the
As it turned out, Amy couldn’t pay Blake’s legal fees anyway. Her accountant, Margaret Cody, informed me that she couldn’t afford to. Of course, the money problem was only short term as a lot of royalties were due to be paid later, but our discussion highlighted the fact that Amy wasn’t working. The royalties were coming in, but there was no plan for what would happen when they ran out. Something had to change.
I visited Amy as often as I could at the hospital. When you’re dealing with someone who’s recovering from drug addiction, you look for small signs of progress wherever you can find them, such as when I saw her eating. That pleased me because she desperately needed to put on some weight.
After only a few days, it was clear there were other positive effects. On one of my visits, Dr Pierides mentioned that he was pleased with Amy’s progress, and Amy was also pleased with it. She was beginning to feel a little better and, to my surprise, she said she wanted to stay in the hospital. She also said she wanted to move out of the Bow flat as she felt the people there were a big part of her problem. I thought this was a major turning-point for Amy, and that she’d come to it after so long left me feeling more relieved than I’d been in days, if not weeks.
The following day Dr Ettlinger called me to say that they were transferring Amy to the London Clinic, in the West End, not far from Harley Street, which is stuffed with high-end private medical practitioners. She was admitted for rehydration as she had lost a lot of weight through vomiting. The plan was that she would stay there for three or four days, then go back to Capio Nightingale. I went to visit her at the London Clinic; I knew the place well as I’d dropped punters off there. The entrance was imposing but old-fashioned, in that red-brick London way, but I’d never been inside and was impressed by the clean modern lines. Amy told me she was feeling a lot better and didn’t want to go back to Capio Nightingale. I said she had to, and she reluctantly agreed. My worst fear was that she would go back to Capio Nightingale, then just walk out, which would leave her open to arrest over the
Sadly, despite the progress she’d made, her leaving was a very real possibility. And if Amy wanted to leave, no one could stop her because she had improved to the point at which they could no longer section her. Amy was feeling so much better that she thought she was cured. Of course, she was far from that. I knew that if she left Capio Nightingale, it wouldn’t be long before she was back on drugs. I really didn’t know what to do and it seemed that no one had a solution. It was sending me round the bend. The people I thought would know best what to do, how to help Amy, how to heal her, could only do so much, and then it was down to her.
One day I took Amy out of Capio Nightingale briefly so that she could have a medical examination with a doctor in Knightsbridge for her visa to enter the US. It went well and Amy and I were both pleased that there was still a chance she could attend the Grammys. The US Embassy said they would let us know their decision within forty-eight hours. I held out the hope that the Grammys might work out for her. Amy seemed so much better, and Dr Ettlinger told me he was thrilled with her progress. Amy had an incredible power of recovery. Given the quantity of poisonous substances she had put into her body, it was wonderful to see her getting better so quickly.
A few days later, I had a call from Security at Capio Nightingale, who told me that Geoff had smuggled drugs into the hospital, crudely stuffed inside a teddy bear. Amy’s friend Blake Wood, whom I called American Blake, didn’t do drugs. He had come to see her shortly afterwards and made sure the drugs were immediately removed. By then, though, Amy had taken some. I rushed to the hospital and stayed with her all night. I was mad with frustration at her weakness, but furious with the awful, awful man who was prepared to risk her wellbeing, even her life, for the sake of a few quid. I banned all visitors who weren’t on a list I had given to the hospital.
