up. She didn’t like what alcoholism was doing to her, or to her family and Reg. She felt terrible about letting everyone down. And then she told me all about her stage fright. She hadn’t felt up to the tour, and for hours before the first gig she’d been shaking with nerves. She’d thought that a couple of drinks might help, but they didn’t, so she’d had some more.
‘All the time I was drinking, Dad, I was thinking how much I hate this,’ she said. ‘I really, really want to stop. I really don’t want to go through all this shit again. Every time something happens. You believe me, don’t you?’
‘Of course I do,’ I told her. ‘But I can’t make these things stop. You’re always going to be around alcohol, and in situations where you’re going to want to drink again. You’ve got to find the will to stop it yourself.’ All I could do was encourage her. I knew she hated what kept happening, but I had no way of knowing how long it would be before she took to drink again.
That day was a bit strange. Amy and I spent an hour or two together and, after we’d talked about Belgrade, she was very reflective. She spoke a lot about my mum, which we often did, and then, which was unusual, she wanted to watch some clips of her live performances on YouTube. ‘Do you think I’m good, Dad?’ she asked, after we’d watched a bit.
‘Of course you are,’ I said. ‘You know you are.’
Then she asked, ‘Dad, do you think I’m beautiful?’
‘I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world,’ I replied, ‘but you’re asking the wrong person. I’m your father.’
Until then, she had never, as far as I knew, watched herself like that – she wasn’t very interested in looking back – and it was the first time I could remember when she’d taken time to study herself in that way. It wasn’t so much about her self-image – I knew she’d had problems with that in the past, but she seemed over those now; this time she was coolly examining her own performance, and seeing what made her special.
‘Just give me a cuddle, Dad,’ she said, and we sat together for about an hour, me holding her in my arms. It was lovely, a very special moment, but at the time I didn’t attach any importance to it. It would be easy to think that she had some sort of premonition, but I don’t really believe that. I think it was just a lovely moment.
The next day I saw Amy again. Mostly we talked about the work she needed to do for her new album. I had a sneaky scout around the house for alcohol, but there was none. I saw Amy most days over the following two weeks, and on the days I didn’t see her I spoke to her on the phone. Gradually our conversations stopped featuring the word ‘alcohol’ and I was content that, for the time being, she had stopped drinking.
On Sunday, 10 July, Jane and I had a lovely day with Amy at Camden Square. We had lunch and then just whiled away the time, talking and listening to music. Amy had done an impromptu DJ set at one of the local pubs that week and she was really into her record collection. It was a normal family Sunday.
The next day Amy called to say she was going to a local bar to play pool. I was concerned: for Amy, playing pool in a bar was synonymous with drinking. I phoned Andrew, the security guy, immediately and told him to call me the minute she had a drink. But he didn’t call. He didn’t need to. As soon as they’d arrived Amy had gone to the bar and told the owner, ‘Do not sell me alcohol under any circumstances.’ That night I wrote in my diary, ‘I’m very proud of Amy. This is very positive.’
On 14 July we spent the day together again. Amy had searched the Internet and found some dance remixes of ‘Please Be Kind’, one of the songs on my album. We listened to them together – Amy thought they were pretty good – and jokingly said, ‘I tell you what, Dad, I’ll take these down with me next time I do some DJing and before you know it you’ll be number one in the dance charts.’
‘What – you going to do this regularly, then? Hope they’re paying you,’ I joked.
‘Oh, shut up! I love doing it, Dad. I feel like I can do anything I want here in Camden. It’s like my playground. But when I’ve had enough I can come home here where it’s all peace and quiet and I feel safe.’
I was flying to New York on 22 July for some gigs, so the day before I left I went to Camden Square to say goodbye to Amy – this was when she showed me the photos she’d found. She told me she was going to see Dionne perform at the iTunes Festival at the Roundhouse in Camden that night; I told her to wish Dionne good luck from me. When we spoke the next day, she told me she’d had a great time at the Roundhouse: Dionne had invited her on to the stage and she had danced while Dionne sang.
Sadly, that was Amy’s last public appearance.
On Saturday, 23 July 2011, my darling daughter Amy passed away.
21
FAREWELL, CAMDEN TOWN
I arrived back at Heathrow airport on the morning of Sunday, 24 July. My friend Hayden picked me up and drove me to his house in north London where Jane was waiting for me. We cried and cried until it seemed there were no tears left.
We went to Janis’s house not far away and we all cried some more. Alex and Riva were already there and people continued to arrive throughout the day. I was in a daze and I don’t really remember much of what went on. Things were happening around me and I felt removed from the scene, as if I was watching a movie.
I kept asking myself, how could this have happened?
I had seen Amy the day before I flew to New York and she was fine. Janis, Richard and Reg had seen her the next day and she was fine. And she was still fine later that night – although, according to Andrew, she was ‘tipsy’. When Andrew checked on her a bit later, she was singing and playing drums in her room. He had checked on her again in the morning and thought she was asleep. Then he checked a few hours later and realized she wasn’t asleep. Immediately he had raised the alarm.
A lot of people believe that Amy’s life was in turmoil during her last eighteen months. But nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, she had lapses back into alcoholism, but those lapses had been gradually getting further and further apart. There was no doubt in those around her that her life was going in the right direction. I always equated Amy’s neatness, or lack of it, to how well-ordered her mind was at any particular time. During those last eighteen months the clothes in her wardrobes were neat and tidy, her books and CDs were organized alphabetically and her sketchbooks numbered.
I knew that Amy couldn’t have died from a drug overdose, as she had been drug-free since 2008. But although she had been so brave and had fought so hard in her recovery from alcoholism, I knew she must have lapsed once again. I thought that Amy hadn’t had a drink for three weeks. But she had actually started drinking at Dionne’s Roundhouse gig the previous Wednesday. I didn’t know that at the time.
The following morning Janis, Jane, Richard Collins (Janis’s fiance), Raye, Reg and I went to St Pancras mortuary to officially identify Amy. Alex couldn’t bring himself to go, which I fully understood. When we arrived there were loads of paps outside the court, but they were all very respectful. We were shown into a room and saw Amy behind a window. She looked very, very peaceful, as if she was just asleep, which in a way made it a lot harder. She looked lovely. There was a slight red blotchiness to her skin, which was why, at the time, I thought she might have had a seizure: she looked as she had done when she had had seizures in the past.
Eventually the others left Janis and me to say goodbye to Amy by ourselves. We were with her for about fifteen minutes. We put our hands on the glass partition and spoke to her. We told her that Mummy and Daddy were with her and that we would always love her.
I can’t express what it was like. It was the worst feeling in the world.
Then we went to Camden Square, where we were joined by Alex and Riva. The police were still investigating the possibility of foul play, so we weren’t allowed inside the house. But hundreds of fans were there and they had turned the square into a shrine. We gathered together and looked at the tributes left at the edge of the police cordons. I thanked the reporters and fans for coming, and shook hands with many of them, fighting back the tears. There were drinks and cigarettes, some beautiful notes and lovely artwork, soft toys, flowers and candles. It was very touching and comforting to know how much Amy was loved. Eventually I broke down and couldn’t stop crying.
After that we went back to Janis’s house where our friends and other members of the family were waiting. I
