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 Florianopolis, 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
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
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
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.
