Today marks one year since Amy Winehouse died.

I've reviewed the book that her father, Mitch Winehouse, wrote about her here.

Amy was a clever girl, and if she'd been interested she would have done well at school. Somehow, though, she was never that interested. She was good at things like maths, but not in the sense that she did well at school. Janis was really good at maths and used to teach the kids. Amy loved doing calculus and quadratic equations when she was still at primary school. No wonder she found maths lessons boring. She was always interested, though, in music. I always had it playing at home and in the car, and Amy sang along with everything. Although she loved big-band and jazz songs, she also liked R&B and hip-hop, especially the US R&B/hip-hop bands TLC and Salt-n-Pepa. She and Juliette used to dress up like Wham!'s backing singers, Pepsi & Shirlie, and sing their songs. When Amy was about ten she and Juliette formed a short-lived rap act, Sweet 'n' Sour ““ Juliette was Sweet and Amy was Sour. There were a lot of rehearsals but, sadly, no public performances.

I felt awful as I drove away to live with Melody in Barnet. I stayed with her for six months before I moved in with Jane. Looking back now, I was a coward for allowing the situation to go on for so long, but I wanted to keep everybody happy. Strangely, after I left I started seeing more of the kids than I had before. My friends thought that Amy didn't seem much affected by the divorce, and when I asked her if she wanted to talk about it, she said, “˜You're still my dad and Mum's still my mum. What's to talk about?'

Probably through guilt, I over-indulged them. I'd buy them presents for no reason, take them to expensive places and give them money. Sometimes, when I was starting a new business and things were tight, we'd go and eat at the Chelsea Kitchen in the King's Road where I could buy meals for no more than two pounds. Years later, the kids told me they'd liked going there better than the more expensive places, mostly because they knew it wasn't costing me a lot. Two things never changed: my love for them and theirs for me.

Over time Amy got worse in the classroom. Janis and I were called to the school for meetings about her behaviour on numerous occasions. I hope the head of year didn't see me trying not to laugh as he told us, “˜Mr and Mrs Winehouse, Amy has already been sent to see me once today and, as always, I knew it was her before she got to my office “¦' I knew if I looked at Janis I'd crack up. “˜How did I know?' the head of year continued. “˜She was singing “Fly Me To The Moon“ loudly enough for the whole school to hear.' I knew I shouldn't laugh, but it was so typically Amy. She told me later that she'd sung it to calm herself down whenever she knew she was in trouble. Just about the only thing she seemed to enjoy about school was performance. However, one year when Amy sang in a show she wasn't very good. I don't know what went wrong ““ perhaps it was the wrong key for her again ““ but I was disappointed. The following year things were different. “˜Dad, will you both come to see me at Ashmole?' she asked. “˜I'm singing again.' To be honest, my heart sank a bit, with the memory of the previous year's performance, but of course we went. She sang the Alanis Morissette song “˜Ironic', and she was as terrific as I knew she could be. What I wasn't expecting was everyone else's reaction: the whole room sat up. Wow, where did this come from?

Along with the management contract, Amy became a regular singer at the Cobden Club in west London, singing jazz standards. Word soon spread about her voice, and before long industry people were dropping in to see her. It was always boiling hot in the Cobden Club, and on one hotter than usual night in August 2002 I'd decided I couldn't stand it any longer and was about to leave when I saw Annie Lennox walk in to listen to Amy. We started talking and she said, “˜Your daughter's going to be great, a big star.' It was thrilling to hear those words from someone as talented as Annie Lennox, and when Amy came down from the stage I waved her over and introduced them to each other. Amy got on very well with Annie and I saw for the first time how natural she was around a big star. It's as if she's already fitting in, I thought.

“˜I'm putting you in that dumpster until you say you're going to the meeting,' he told her. Amy started to laugh because she thought Nick wouldn't do it, but he picked her up, put her in the dumpster and closed the lid. “˜I'm not letting you out until you say you're coming to the meeting.' She was banging on the side of the dumpster and shouting her head off. But it was only after she'd agreed to go to the meeting that Nick let her out. She immediately screamed, “˜KIDNAP! RAPE!' They were still arguing as they walked into the meeting. “˜Sorry we're late,' Nick said. Then Amy jumped in: “˜Yeah, that's cos Nick just tried to rape me.'

Apart from the sampler, though, I still hadn't heard the songs that were on the short-list for Frank and Amy seemed a bit reticent about letting me listen to them. Maybe she thought lyrics like “˜the only time I hold your hand is to get the angle right' might shock me or that I'd embarrass her. I teased her after I'd finally heard the song. “˜I want to ask you a question,' I said. “˜That song “In My Bed“ when you sing“”' “˜Dad! I don't want to talk about it!'

Amy came over to Jane's and my house when she was sorting out the tracks for Frank. She had a load of recordings on CDs and I was flicking through them when she snatched one away from me. “˜You don't want to listen to that one, Dad,' she said. “˜It's about you.' You'd have thought she'd know better. It was a red rag to a bull and I insisted she played “˜What Is It About Men'. When I heard her sing I immediately understood why she'd thought I wouldn't want to listen to it: "Understand, once he was a family man/So surely I would never, ever go through it first hand/Emulate all the shit my mother hates/I can't help but demonstrate my Freudian fate". I wasn't upset, but it did make me think that perhaps my leaving Janis had had a more profound effect on Amy than I'd previously thought or Amy had demonstrated. I didn't need to ask her how she felt now because she'd laid herself bare in that song. All those times I'd seen Amy scribbling in her notebooks, she'd been writing this stuff down. The lyrics were so well observed, pertinent and, frankly, bang on. Amy was one of life's great observers. She stored her experiences and called upon them when she needed to for a lyric.

After Frank came out, Amy would begin a performance at a gig by walking onstage, clapping and chanting, “˜Class-A drugs are for mugs. Class-A drugs are for mugs “¦' She'd get the whole audience to join in until they'd all be clapping and chanting as she launched into her first number. Although Amy was smoking cannabis, she had always been totally against class-A drugs. Blake Fielder-Civil changed that. Amy first met him early in 2005 at the Good Mixer pub in Camden. None of Amy's friends that I've spoken to over the years can remember exactly what led to this meeting. But after that encounter she talked about him a lot. “˜When am I going to meet him, darling?' I asked. Amy was evasive, which was probably, I learned later, because Blake was in a relationship. Amy knew about this, so initially you could say that Amy was “˜the other woman'. And although she knew that he was seeing someone else, it was only about a month after they'd met that she had his name tattooed over her left breast. It was clear that she loved him ““ that they loved each other ““ but it was also clear that Blake had his problems. It was a stormy relationship from the start. A few weeks after they'd met, Blake told Amy that he'd finished with the other girl, and Amy, who never did anything by halves, was now fully obsessed with him.

A couple of months later I saw Blake for the first time, although I didn't actually meet him then, at the Queen's Arms, in Primrose Hill, north-west London, where I'd arranged to meet Amy one Sunday lunchtime. I walked into the busy pub and saw her sitting on some fella's lap. They were kissing passionately. The pub was packed and I thought, This isn't on. I got hold of her, took her outside and gave her a piece of my mind ““ she shouldn't have been doing that in a public place. We had a bit of a row and Amy told me she had been kissing her boyfriend, Blake. I said I didn't care who he was, and I was about to walk off when I stopped and turned round. “˜And another thing,' I said. “˜What's with all the big hair and the makeup? Who are you meant to be?' “˜Don't you like it, Dad? It's my new look.' I thought she'd looked nicer when she was a bit smarter, though I had to admit the look suited her, but I didn't say so then. “˜Come on, Dad, come and have a drink with us,' she said. I was still seething so I made some excuse. It was none of my business where and whom my twenty-one-year-old daughter kissed but I've always been a bit hot-headed, especially where my kids are concerned.

A lot of her songs were to do with Blake, which did not escape Mark's attention. She told Mark that writing songs about him was cathartic and that “˜Back to Black' summed up what had happened when their relationship had ended: Blake had gone back to his ex and Amy to black, or drinking and hard times. It was some of her most inspired writing because, for better or worse, she'd lived it. Mark and Amy inspired each other musically, each bringing out fresh ideas in the other. One day they decided to take a quick stroll around the neighbourhood because Amy wanted to buy Alex Clare a present. On the way back Amy began telling Mark about being with Blake, then not being with Blake and being with Alex instead. She told him about the time at my house after she'd been in hospital when everyone had been going on at her about her drinking. “˜You know they tried to make me go to rehab, and I told them, no, no, no.' “˜That's quite gimmicky,' Mark replied. “˜It sounds hooky. You should go back to the studio and we should turn that into a song.' Of course, Amy had written that line in one of her books ages ago. She'd told me before she was planning to write a song about what had happened that day, but that was the moment “˜Rehab' came to life. Amy had also been working on a tune for the “˜hook', but when she played it to Mark later that day it started out as a slow blues shuffle ““ it was like a twelve-bar blues progression. Mark suggested that she should think about doing a sixties girl-group sound, as she liked them so much. He also thought it would be fun to put in the Beatles-style E minor and A minor chords, which would give it a jangly feel. Amy was unaccustomed to this style ““ most of the songs she was writing were based around jazz chords ““ but it worked and that day she wrote “˜Rehab' in just three hours. If you had sat Amy down with a pen and paper every day, she wouldn't have written a song. But every now and then, something or someone turned the light on in her head and she wrote something brilliant. During that time it happened over and over again. The sessions in the studio became very intense and tiring, especially for Mark, who would sometimes work a double shift and then fall asleep. He would wake up with his head in Amy's lap and she would be stroking his hair, as if he was a four-year-old. Mark was a few years older than Amy, but he told me he found her very motherly and kind.

When Amy returned to London she told me excitedly about some of the Hispanic women she'd seen in Xmi, and how she wanted to blend their look ““ thick eyebrows, heavy eye-liner, bright red lipstick ““ with her passion for the sixties “˜beehive'.

Back to Black was released in the UK on 27 October 2006, and during its first two weeks it sold more than 70,000 copies. It reached number one on the UK Albums Chart in the week ending 20 January 2007. On 14 December 2007 it was certified six times platinum in the UK in recognition of more than 1.8 million copies sold. By December 2011 Back to Black had sold 3.5 million copies in the UK and more than 20 million copies worldwide.

I was blown away, beyond proud. But deep down I never wanted Amy to write another album like it. The songs are amazing but she went through hell to write them. I don't like Back to Black as much as I like Frank; I never really did. And that's for one reason only: all of the songs on Back to Black, apart from “˜Rehab', are about Blake. It occurred to me recently that one of the biggest-selling UK albums of the twenty-first century so far is all about the biggest low-life scumbag that God ever put breath into. Quite ironic, isn't it? Mind you, you don't get albums written about really good people like Gandhi or Nelson Mandela, do you? Good people's places in Heaven may be assured, but nobody's going to have a chart-topping album full of songs about someone's good deeds.

Amy was on the comedian Bill Bailey's team. She hit it off with the host, Simon Amstell, when he introduced her: “˜Bill's first guest is Amy Winehouse, the Ivor Novello Award-winning “Jazz Jew“. Amy's likes include Kelly Osbourne and the smell of petrol. I quite like matches. Let's do lunch.' Amy got her first big laugh when GMTV presenter Penny Smith, who was on the other team, asked Amy if her beehive was her own hair. “˜Oh, yeah,' Amy replied. “˜Yeah, it's all mine. Cos I bought it, yeah.' Shortly after that Amy asked Simon if she could have another drink and Simon refused, which led to some friendly banter. Amy said she was seeing Pete Doherty later that night to talk about doing a tune together. “˜He wants to sell you drugs,' Simon yelled. “˜Don't go near him! Do something with Katie Melua. There you go.' “˜I'd rather have cat AIDS, thank you,' Amy replied.

When she sat down again Amy took a drink of water, then turned and spat over her shoulder. “˜This is not a football match,' Simon said to her. “˜You come here full of “¦ crack “¦ spitting all over things “¦' Amy jokingly pleaded, “˜Let it die, please. Let it die “¦ please.' “˜The addiction I'd like to die “¦' Simon replied. “˜This isn't even a pop quiz any more. It's an intervention, Amy.' Amy laughed and told me later she'd thought that was the best line on the show. I think Amy liked Simon Amstell. She let him get away with remarks she wouldn't have taken from someone she didn't like.

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 Back to Black) and Best Female Pop Vocal. 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.'

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.

SUBJECT: My God you're ugly. TEXT: Are you coming to the BRITS, you savage, savage man. I would prefer Maud, but Madonna couldn't even fast-track the quarantine laws. I did everything, trust me. I go bananas over you. Levi Levine p.s. Frank Sinatra is and always will be God.

I laughed. “˜I suppose Maud's his dog? And why'd you call yourself Levi Levine?' But Amy had drifted off to sleep.

I went upstairs and tried to talk some sense into her but it was a waste of time. When she was high, she would babble about whatever came into her head. It was painful to watch and even worse to listen to. At one point Amy told me to cancel a proposed deal to license a perfume with her name attached to it. “˜I don't want to hurt my credibility,' she told me, as she sat there high on crack. “˜Hurt your credibility? What do you think smoking crack cocaine is doing to your credibility?' It was an impossible conversation. I stormed out, with Amy shouting for me to come back. I felt as low as I'd ever been. I didn't think Amy would die, but I just couldn't see a way out of this. You don't become an expert in anything overnight, and I was still learning how best to deal with an addict. Somehow or other I had to speed up the learning process.

The day-to-day changes in Amy amazed me: the next evening Raye called me from the studio to say that she and Mark had had a really good day working. He also said that she had been able to take her prescribed Subutex, as she had been drug-free for twelve hours. When it came time for her next dose, though, she couldn't have it as, once again, she had taken other drugs. As a result, she went into withdrawal and the whole process started yet again. That Sunday, I drove down to the Henley studio to find Amy in bed. She was filthy and suffering the effects of withdrawal. I managed to get her into the shower, realizing again how painfully thin she was. If Amy had died at that point, I wouldn't have been at all surprised. I put her back to bed and stayed with her until she fell asleep. Sitting in a chair next to her bed, I despaired. I was running out of ideas. If she took drugs she couldn't take Subutex for twelve hours. If she didn't take Subutex she went into withdrawal so she took more drugs. A horrible vicious circle.

The next day Raye rang: Amy was flipping out at Henley. She had hit someone and cut herself. I shot down to Henley. I had never seen Amy so bad. She had cuts on her arms and face; she had stubbed out a cigarette on her cheek and had a bad cut on her hand where she had punched a mirror. She had been on a two-day bender and, during the course of it, had told Blake she had slept with Alex Haines. What had happened at the Sanderson Hotel was happening all over again: out of shame and guilt she had cut herself.

All this was still going on when I got there and I had to force her on to her bed to stop her harming herself even more. I held her in my arms until she finally calmed down, then got a nurse to patch her up and to stay with her. I wrote in my diary, “˜This has been one of the worst days of my life. I don't know what to do next. Please God, give me the strength and wisdom to help Amy.' Every day brought a new set of horrors. The following week Amy presented herself, on schedule, at Limehouse Police Station, accompanied by Raye and Brian Spiro, to talk to them about the crack-cocaine video. Of course, she was high on drugs and drink. Amy was charged and bailed to return there later that month. When I mentioned rehab, all Amy could say, in her drink- and drug-fuelled state, was, “˜I'm not going to any facility, I want to go to Holloway,' meaning the women's prison in north London. Although the Bond song had now been cancelled, a couple of days later Amy wanted to go back to Henley to work on other stuff, so I arranged for her to go while I stayed in London. Over the week, I checked in regularly with Dale Davis, her bassist and musical director. Some days they were getting work done, on others Amy was being yelled at on the phone by Blake so she'd get high to console herself.

Perhaps the most difficult thing about loving and helping an addict, which most people who haven't been through it don't understand, is this: every day the cycle continues is your new worst day. When looked at from the outside it seems endless, the same thing over and over again; but when you're living it, it's like being a hamster on a wheel. Every day there's the chronic anxiety of waiting for news, the horrible rush when it turns out to be bad, the overwhelming sense of déjà  vu ““ and the knowledge that, despite your best efforts, you'll probably be here again. Even so-called good days are not without their drawbacks. You enjoy them as much as you can, but in the back of your mind there's the lurking fear that tomorrow you could be back to square one again, or worse. For me, this was life with Amy. If I was stopped by someone in the street and they asked how Amy was doing, I knew they wouldn't understand if I told them what was going on. I'd learned that it's nearly impossible to explain how this could keep happening. I'd imagined that, as they offered sympathy, they'd be wondering, How can her family let this carry on? Or, Why didn't they lock her up until she was clean? But unless an addict wants to quit, they'll find a way to get drugs, and as soon as they leave the rehab facility they'll pick up where they left off. Long before Amy was an addict, no one could tell her what to do. Once she became an addict, that stubbornness just got worse. There were times when she wanted to be clean, but the times when she didn't outnumbered them.

It seemed that Amy's drug habit was diminishing, and I felt incredibly positive about that ““ she always took her Subutex ““ but I found it hard to understand why she was still doing drugs if the Subutex was working. I asked Amy about it repeatedly, but she had no answer for me. I found out later, from talking to other recovering addicts, that this is often the way.

I had arranged to talk to Russell Brand about Amy and met him at his house in Hampstead, north London. He is a recovering addict and gave me some very helpful advice about her situation. He was impressed that she was sticking to the Subutex, and introduced me to his drug counsellor, Chip Somers. I set up an appointment to 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.

Blake was trying to portray himself as a martyr and there was no mention of how well Amy was doing in her battle to get clean. The same day I received the following text from him: You are trying to buy your daughter's divorce. Stop hiding Amy's money. I want a contract. He was after something in writing ““ I assume about the property he wanted my financial help with ““ before he'd agree to a divorce. I texted him back telling him not to contact me again. Amy was in a terrible way after she saw that article, stomping around and banging doors. Andrew told me she had arranged for a drug-dealer to visit her later, but I managed to put a stop to it. She was in complete and utter denial, insisting Blake hadn't actually said the words printed in the News of the World, that he'd been misquoted and they were the words of the journalist. When I asked her how she knew that, she said Blake had told her. I had no choice but to show Amy the text I had received from Blake. “˜I don't want to hurt you, darling, but you've got to know the truth.' She was stunned and just stared at the words on my phone, trying to make sense of what was going on. I think it was then that it finally sank in. It was then that she realized Blake had been lying to her and that all he was interested in was her money. It was a hard blow and I feared she might resort to drugs in an attempt to ease the pain. Eventually she spoke: “˜I love him, Dad. I'll love him no matter what.' This worried me, but she went on, “˜I'm stronger now, and what he says to you only makes me want to get clean and stay clean. Then I can help him get clean as well. It's what I want to do.' I never understood why Amy was so in love with Blake. It wasn't as if he'd brought much good into her life, or so it seemed to me. Just drugs and misery. Maybe she'd wanted to experiment with things, as a lot of people do in their early twenties, but she chose the wrong man to do it with: he took her down a path she couldn't come back from easily. It's the one thing I never got clear in my head about my daughter. I like to think I knew Amy as well as anyone in the world; I could relate to so much of her because she always reminded me of myself. But this was the one part of her that didn't make sense to me, ever. Sure enough, as soon I left, Amy and Blake made up and she told him to come home when he got out of rehab.

About halfway there Amy started sweating, panting and shaking. Phil knew straight away what it was: “˜She's going into alcohol withdrawal. You need to get her a drink, which will stave off the craving.' “˜Are you kidding?' I asked. “˜She needs a small amount of alcohol and that will do the trick.' Amy was in a bad way, and I was in no position to argue, so I stopped the cab and bought her a miniature bottle of vodka. She drank it and, sure enough, it worked.

When I saw Amy in hospital later on, she told me she was thinking about having her breasts enlarged and had discussed it with a doctor that afternoon. Tyler was there, too, and told me that while they'd been on St Lucia, Amy had gone on about this a few times, constantly comparing herself to some of the other girls on the beach. While I don't approve of plastic surgery per se, I didn't mind Amy having this done: after I'd heard Tyler's stories, I felt it might boost her self-esteem and put an end to her doubts, something I always believed stemmed from her drug use and break-up with Blake. Amy had her breast implant procedure at the London Clinic on 8 October. Afterwards she looked great and her confidence increased as I'd expected.

She was a great kid and I'd have done anything for her but sometimes she made me do things for her that I found hard. “˜Dad, I need some underwear,' she said. “˜Okay. I'll go to Marks & Spencer and get you some,' I said. “˜No, Dad, not Marks. Go to Agent Provocateur.' The fancy lingerie shop? I gulped. “˜Are you kidding? I can't go in there.' Suffice to say, Amy had her way and I went to Agent Provocateur in Soho, which I found a bit awkward to say the least. I would have been embarrassed saying, “˜I want to buy some knickers for my daughter,' so I said they were for my wife. Amy was delighted with my purchases, but it was a mistake to tell her how embarrassed I had been. She loved the idea of making me squirm and really knew how to wind me up; she'd done it many times over the years and this time my usual response ““ “˜Don't ask me to do this, Amy, ask your girlfriends' ““ had got me nowhere. The next day she sent me back to buy her a baby-doll nightie.

In the end, Reg helped to put Blake out of Amy's mind once and for all. Being with Reg changed her whole perspective on Blake. As she told me, she'd finally realized just how immature he was. She thought he saw her more as his mother than his ex-wife. Even so, the time had come for her to cut herself loose from him. She changed her phone number and the contact petered out. The last time they spoke Blake asked Amy to send him a postal order for two hundred pounds. Reg suggested she agreed only on the understanding that she never heard from him again and, as far as Reg and I know, she never did. I'd spent so much time and energy worrying about Blake and his influence on Amy. I'd blamed him for her drug problems. I'd been looking forward to this moment for so long and it had finally arrived. Strangely I felt nothing, perhaps because I had her drinking to worry about ““ and, unlike her drug addiction, there was no one I could blame for that. There's no question that Reg was a stabilizing influence in Amy's life, and I know they talked about getting married. I also know that if Amy had become pregnant, and Reg told me she'd thought she was on two occasions, they would have got married straight away ““ it might have saved her life.

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 fiancé), 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.