The next morning I chaperoned Amy to Pentonville for her visit with Blake. The newspaper coverage of the visit was upbeat about Amy’s health and there were some nice photographs of her, smiling at the cameras. On the way back in the cab, I asked Amy what Blake had said to her when she had told him about the hospital. In fairness to Blake, around that time he appeared to be supportive of Amy getting clean.
‘We didn’t talk about me, Dad,’ she said. ‘We talked about him and then a bit about us, you know, Blake and me.’
I knew then that she hadn’t told him.
In spite of the setback with the drugs from the teddy bear, Amy was making progress, and we all felt confident she would continue heading in the right direction. But a question mark still hung over the Grammys. We had still had no word from the US Embassy about Amy’s visa and, as time was running out, Raye arranged for her to perform in London on a live link to the Grammys. It was a smart move. Not long after, we learned that the embassy had declined Amy’s visa application on the grounds that traces of cocaine had been found in her blood.
Initially Amy was upset: she had wanted more than anything to play in front of her peers at the Grammys. She bucked up when I explained the plans for a live performance to be beamed to Los Angeles, but she was still very disappointed that the visa wasn’t forthcoming. She had had enough of Capio Nightingale, she said, and definitely wanted to leave. I was able to keep her there one more day, but that was it. I found her a two-bedroom suite at the Plaza on the River Hotel, Albert Embankment, near the Houses of Parliament. Amy liked the fact that the suites were separate from the hotel, giving her privacy. I arranged for American Blake to stay there with her, which she was very pleased about.
At ten o’clock on Friday, 10 February, Raye, Lucian, Dr Ettlinger, Amy’s new consultant psychiatrist Dr Kelleher, Amy and I had a meeting at Capio Nightingale, during which Amy was told that there must be no drugs or the live link to the Grammys would be pulled. Amy was on top form. She agreed to the terms of her leaving, so Raye and I drove her to the Plaza on the River where we discussed the plan for the live link. Amy was going to do a show for invited guests first, then perform two songs for the live link. She was very excited, and I saw the old Amy gradually emerge as we went through the details. Amy assured me that she would not take any drugs before the show. I really wanted to believe her but there was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind.
The next day I took my sister Melody and her husband Elliott to watch Amy rehearse for the following night’s show. Her set sent tingles down my spine and, believe me, she didn’t need that rehearsal: she could have done the show there and then – she was fantastic and there was no sign of any drugs. I had dinner with Amy at the hotel and she definitely hadn’t taken any drugs, but she did drink a lot, which troubled me. I hoped it wasn’t something new to worry about.
Amy’s show for the Grammys was due to start at eleven thirty p.m., to coincide with the live show in LA, but I wanted to be there very early to keep an eye on her. I arrived at the venue, Riverside Studios in Hammersmith, west London, at about six thirty. The room had been decorated to resemble a nightclub and looked great. I hung out with the guys from Amy’s band, who were looking forward to the gig. When show time came around, Amy looked just great and gave an absolutely brilliant performance for friends and family. It got the night off to a perfect start and we didn’t look back.
Via a satellite link, Amy performed ‘You Know I’m No Good’ and ‘Rehab’ to us and the Grammy audience, who clapped and cheered her for ages after she’d finished. It was a real high point, and I was reminded of just how magical Amy could be, even in the midst of these very dark times. I had seen her perform on stages in front of thousands of people; I had seen her in small clubs and rooms above pubs; I’d heard her in my sitting room and in the back of my cab – but that night outstripped them all. That show was electrifying. She was vital and alive, at her peak. She knew it and revelled in it.
In all Amy won five Grammys – an unprecedented number for an overseas star – for Record of the Year, Song of the Year (both for ‘Rehab’), Best New Artist, Best Pop Vocal Album (for
When Tony Bennett announced she’d won Record of the Year we all rushed on to the stage and hugged – Janis, Alex, Amy and me. ‘I can’t believe it, Dad,’ Amy said, ‘Tony Bennett knows my name.’
In her acceptance speeches, Amy kept things sweet and simple, saying very graciously, ‘Thank you very much. It’s an honour to be here. Thank you very, very much.’ And as the crowd chanted, ‘Amy, Amy, Amy,’ she put her arms around Janis and me, and said, ‘To my mum and dad.’
When I heard those words, I started crying uncontrollably. My tears of joy were not only for her success but also for the fact that my little girl was back from the misery she had been suffering for the last six months.
The whole family partied until the early hours and we arrived back at the hotel at five thirty a.m. The room was crowded; I beckoned Amy over and told her I had something to say to her privately. We walked out onto the terrace, where we stood and shivered in the cold. I put my arm round her and said, ‘Do you know, darling? Tonight wasn’t about the tabloids. It wasn’t about Blake. It wasn’t even about the drugs. It was about you and your music. Keep it that way and, believe you me, you’ll be all right.’
13
PRESS, LIES, AND A VIDEOTAPE
The following day the newspapers were full of Amy’s triumph at the Grammys. Some even reported that her visa had come through too late for her to travel to the US, rather than the truth that it had been declined. In every way it seemed this was a chance for a fresh start.
It didn’t last long. Before any of us had any time to relish things, we were confronted once again with the difficult reality that drugs remained a constant problem for Amy. Despite my instructions to the hotel’s security guards, Amy managed to have drugs delivered to her suite and my hopes for her recovery were dashed. American Blake had been there, but couldn’t stop her. The only consolation, if you could call it that, was that she hadn’t taken much, and American Blake had managed to flush away most of what she’d bought. But what difference did it make how much she had taken? The fact was, she was still addicted. We had gone from the incredible high of the Grammys night to another low. I said to Jane, ‘Is this what our lives are going to be like from now on? Up, down, up, down?’ It wasn’t enough to say I was disappointed, the truth was I was simply exhausted.
Around that time I had a call from Roger Daltrey – he wanted to congratulate Amy on her Grammy wins. He and I ended up having a long chat about addiction. I got off the phone feeling slightly better because Roger had convinced me that it was possible for Amy to get clean – but part of me still worried about what was coming next.
I spoke to Amy later that day and, understandably, she didn’t want to discuss drugs. Instead she said she wanted to visit Alex Foden, who’d gone into rehab while she was in treatment. When he came out, she said, she wanted him to become her personal assistant. The minute I heard those words, I knew it was a load of rubbish. Personal assistant? Drug buddy, more like.
The next day Amy went to see him, Foden checked out of rehab and Amy installed him in her suite at the Plaza on the River Hotel. Unable to deal with what he knew was to come, American Blake left, and I didn’t blame him. With Foden staying, I knew it wouldn’t be long before there was trouble. Sure enough, a couple of days later, Amy took drugs again and, as a result, she missed her visit to Blake in prison. I went to the hotel and told Foden he had to leave. I agreed that we would pay his rehab bill if he went back in. Amy wasn’t too pleased but in the end he went.
American Blake moved back into the suite and, once again, Amy promised not to take drugs. I told her that her promises were worthless to me, and I would only be convinced that she meant what she’d said if she had a urine test every day. She didn’t like that but agreed to it. While I was encouraged that she’d said yes, I doubted she would stick to the regime. I pointed out that the BRIT Awards were looming, and even though she wasn’t nominated for anything, they wanted her to perform and receive a special achievement award. I explained to her, though, that unless I knew she wasn’t taking drugs, I would make sure she didn’t perform.
‘I’m gonna do it, Dad,’ she insisted. ‘Look, I’ve even emailed Ronson about it.’
She showed me what she’d sent him.
