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it. I was against it. I thought she’d just had one too many this time, and rehab seemed an overreaction.
    â€˜I think she’s fine,’ I told everyone, which she later turned into a line in ‘Rehab’.
    As we carried on talking, though, I saw the other side – that if she dealt with the problem now, it would be gone. Lauren and the two Nicks had seen her out drinking, and they, with Jane, were in favour of trying rehab, so I shut up.
    After a while, Amy came down, and we told her what we’d been discussing. As you’d expect, she said, ‘I ain’t going,’ so we all had a go at changing her mind, first the two Nicks, then Lauren, then Jane and I. Eventually Jane took Amy into the kitchen and gave her a good talking-to. I don’t know exactly what was said but Amy came out and said, ‘All right, I’ll give it a go.’
    The next day she packed a bag and the Nicks took her to a rehab facility in Surrey, just outside London. We thought she was going for a week, but three hours later she was back.
    â€˜What happened?’ I asked.
    â€˜Dad, all the counsellor wanted to do was talk about himself,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got time to sit there listening to that rubbish. I’ll deal with this my own way.’
    The two Nicks, who had driven her home, were still trying to persuade her to go back, but she wasn’t having any of it. Amy had made her mind up and that was that.
    Initially I agreed with her, since I hadn’t been totally convinced she needed to go in the first place. Later it came out that the clinic had told Amy she needed to be there for at least two months – I think that was what had made her leave. She might have stuck it for a week, but a couple of months? No chance. For Amy, being in control was vital and she wouldn’t allow someone else to take over. She’d been like that since she was very young; it had been Amy, after all, who’d put in the application to Sylvia Young, Amy who’d got the singing gig with the National Youth Jazz Orchestra, and Amy who’d got the job at WENN. She’d had help, yes, but she’d done it – not Janis, not me.
    Amy headed to the kitchen. ‘Who wants a drink?’ she called over her shoulder. ‘I’m making tea.’
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    Frank sold more than 300,000 copies in the UK when it was first released, going platinum within a matter of weeks. Based on sales, you would have thought Amy’s career was in the ascendant, but that wasn’t the case.
    By the end of 2004 there wasn’t much work coming in and I was beginning to think it was all over as quickly as it had started, although Amy wasn’t worried and continued being out there and having a good time. The people around her seemed unaware that nothing was happening with her career and carried on treating her as if she was a big star. I guess if enough people tell you you’re a big star, you come to believe it.
    Only my mother could bring Amy back to earth. She didn’t often have a go at her but when she did it was relentless. We were at her flat one Friday night when she told Amy, ‘Get in there. If they’re finished, get everyone’s plates, bring them into the kitchen and do the washing-up.’ Amy wasn’t happy about that, but when everyone else had left, Mum called Amy to her again: ‘Come here, you, I want to talk to you.’
    â€˜No, Nan, no.’ Amy knew what was coming. She had said something earlier that my mum had considered out of line.
    â€˜Never let me hear you say that again. Who do you think you are?’
    It did the trick. My mother was a stabilizing influence on Amy and made sure her feet were firmly on the ground. So, it was no surprise that it hit Amy hard when her grandmother fell ill in the winter of 2004. I drove round to Amy’s, dreading the moment when I had to say, ‘Nan’s been diagnosed with