Amy, My Daughter

meet him right away. My conversation with Russell left me feeling optimistic that the end of the road could be in sight. A lot would depend on whether or not Amy got back with Blake, but time was on our side now, and she seemed to be coping well.

I met Chip Somers at Focus 12, the drug and alcohol rehabilitation clinic, in Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk, and was very impressed with the work he was doing. If only we could get Amy there, I thought, this would be a good place for her to be now that she appeared to be nearing the home straight.

But the daily frustrations continued, with Amy missing appointments and Blake persuading her not to do things. Eventually I’d had enough, and I tore into her. She screamed and shouted and we both got very worked up. I can’t remember what we said in the heat of the moment, but in the end Amy promised, ‘I’ll keep my next appointment, Dad, but it’s really hard without Blake. Can you stop going on about him all the time?’

‘I would, darling,’ I said, ‘but I don’t like this hold he has over you.’ I thought about my recent conversation with Chip Somers and his advice on how to handle an addict in recovery. ‘You’ve got to learn to say to yourself, “No, I’m responsible, I’m going to take control of what happens in my life.”’

Amy put a hand to her forehead. ‘I know, Dad,’ she said. ‘I know Blake manipulates me, but I kind of like it, and I know I’ve got to stop.’

She kept talking about the good times they’d had and how much they loved each other. I pointed out to her that all of the so-called good times had involved drugs. At first she said this wasn’t true but then, after she’d thought about it, she agreed. I asked her what she was going to do about Blake. She said she loved him and she really couldn’t see beyond that. I felt very sorry for her.

Despite her promise, Amy didn’t keep her next appointment with Dr Tovey. The Subutex was rapidly running out, and once she stopped taking it, it wouldn’t be long before she went into withdrawal. I tried calling her, but she wouldn’t answer the phone. That was unusual. I wondered if she had repeated our conversation to Blake and he had banned her from talking to me. I went over to see her. She had run out of Subutex and was having a really tough time. I finally persuaded her to let me take her to Dr Tovey, who prescribed more Subutex.

* * *

As all of this was unfolding, there was the constant pressure of the press. When Jane and I were in Tenerife, I’d received a call from Phil Taylor of the News of the World. They were publishing two stories about Amy and he wanted my comments. The first was from Georgette, saying it was disgraceful that Amy had missed so many visits to see Blake, and the second was that Amy was being kept under house arrest as she was in a terrible state, talking to herself and incontinent. It was unbelievable. I, of course, denied it all. Now Phil Taylor was in touch again. The News of the World was publishing a story that damned Blake and his family and they wanted my reaction. At the time I believed the best way to fight Blake and his family, and protect Amy, was publicly in the press, so I talked to him. I wanted the world to know there was always someone in Amy’s corner. In retrospect, that was a mistake. It didn’t do any of us any good and I regret the way I handled it, but at the time I was angry.

I’d also been receiving lots of anonymous calls. They were from a withheld number and the woman, whose voice sounded familiar, swore and ranted down the phone at me. I alerted my solicitor, Brian Spiro, and he chased the police about the anonymous letter and texts.

A few days later I was called by Kent Police to discuss the anonymous anti-Semitic letter, anonymous calls and abusive texts in more detail. I was told this was more than just harassment and the police were treating it as a very serious case. The letter had been sent for forensic analysis.

On 18 October Amy called to say, ‘I love you, Dad.’ That cheered me up immensely. When I spoke to her again later, she said she wanted me to help her with some designs she was doing for a collection of clothes that Fred Perry were interested in producing. I had known about this for a while and was pleased that she was starting to work on it. The idea was that Amy would design and draw the clothes and Fred Perry would produce the Amy Winehouse Collection. Amy was a very good artist and loved designing and drawing clothes. Fred Perry could see that she was stylish in the purest and most original sense, and believed that the collection would sell. It was eventually launched on 10 October 2010 and did extremely well. Amy’s collaboration with Fred Perry went from strength to strength and I treasure the original drawings.

I don’t know where she got her ideas from. She might have spent hours flicking through fashion magazines, both new and vintage, but I think her real source of inspiration was the street. Whenever she went out, Amy was always looking about, her keen eye picking out individuals who’d created their own look. If she saw someone wearing something that interested her, she’d go up to them and ask where they’d bought it. She’d do this wherever she was in the world, not just in Camden: I’d been with her in Spain when she’d go up to strangers and ask them.

The Fred Perry project was a good distraction, but things were getting on top of Amy again. She was trying hard to beat the drugs, but she certainly wasn’t clear yet. At one point she suggested she came to live with me and Jane for a while, but at the last minute she changed her mind.

Once again, she was struggling to leave the house and it wasn’t long before the Subutex ran out and she went into withdrawal. This time, though, instead of doing as she had previously done and taking drugs, she wanted to be admitted to the London Clinic. It was a big step forward: she really was taking control. I took her in, and she was examined immediately: apart from the withdrawal symptoms and a chest infection, there was nothing wrong with her and they confirmed that she hadn’t recently taken drugs. Her security guys were posted at the hospital and told that there were to be no visitors or calls without my permission, unless the visitor knew the password, which only I would give to permitted visitors. The password this time was my mother’s name, Cynthia.

Over the next couple of days, Blake called me repeatedly asking for the password. Obviously I wouldn’t give it to him, so he made a nuisance of himself, calling the hospital and being abusive to the nurses because they wouldn’t put him through to Amy. I felt awful about what we were putting the nurses through, but I was very glad they were standing up to him: I certainly didn’t want him talking to Amy because I was worried he might persuade her to leave the hospital.

After a few days Amy was doing very well, and all of her test results were much better than the doctors had expected. She had brightened up and was having a good time with her permitted visitors, who seemed to be there day and night.

I took some deli food into her one lunchtime. She picked away and actually cleared her plate, then said, ‘Dad, I was talking to someone in here about eating and that, and I realize I’ve had some trouble with this over the last couple of years. Was it the drugs? I ain’t certain, but it could’ve been, couldn’t it?’

I was pleased she’d brought it up because, as I’ve said, we’d all noticed how thin she’d got. I’d put it down to drugs, but suggested she ask a doctor.

After a week she left the London Clinic, and she looked as if she’d put on some weight. Dr Tovey was pleased with her progress, so I took her back to Prowse Place. Later that day she called saying she was worried about a rash that had suddenly appeared on her body. I arranged for Dr Ettlinger to visit and straight away Amy asked if she could be readmitted to the London Clinic. I later learned that she had told Jevan she wanted to go back even before she had noticed the rash. She had been home just a few hours, but it was clear she felt safe at the London Clinic, away from the temptation of drugs. I doubt it had anything to do with the rash.

Despite Amy’s wish to go back to the London Clinic, I got a call two days later to say that she had left the hospital at nine thirty the previous night and hadn’t returned. She had gone back to Prowse Place to get high. Twenty-four hours later she returned to the London Clinic. She seemed to be treating it as a hotel. By this time, though, I’d spoken to a number of recovering addicts and drug counsellors, who had all told me that it was fairly common for addicts, even those close to quitting, to lapse, so I didn’t take the news too badly. I suppose I was becoming more informed about the whole process so I no longer overreacted to every last little thing. The bottom line was that Amy wanted to be helped.

* * *

On 5 November 2008 Blake was released from prison, some months early. His release was conditional upon his admission to Life Works, a rehab treatment centre in Woking. Of course he asked Amy to pay the fees, and sent her a form to sign while she was at the London Clinic. Surprisingly, she refused. ‘I’m not paying, Dad,’ she told me. ‘I’m totally pissed off with him. He can go where he likes, but I ain’t paying.’

I was over the moon. This was the big breakthrough I’d been waiting for. I’d worried constantly about how Amy would react when Blake was released and I couldn’t have hoped for anything better.