Unbreakable: My New Autobiography by Sharon Osbourne Read Free Book Online Page B

weighing up her options. She’d shown that she was a performer on the West End stage; she was like, OK, now what?
    And then the phone rang. It was Dancing with the Stars . Would she be interested?
    Dancing with the Stars is the US version of Strictly Come Dancing . Even the judges are the same – at least, two of them are, Len Goodman and Bruno Tonioli. In fact, Kelly and I had been approached several years before, but it didn’t work out. I had had lessons, and I knew that it was hard, really hard.
    Kelly didn’t have to think twice. She was in. And it couldn’t have been more fortuitous. The timing was perfect. Dancing with the Stars is totally involving. She did a month’s training, and then it was six days a week as long as you stayed in. It’s a huge commitment. It’s all or nothing, and it’s a complete gift. You learn to dance with the best dancers in the world. And we’re not talking a couple of hours a week. When you do DWTS , you can’t do anything else.
    Above all, it gave Kelly a structure. There was no saying, ‘Oh, I’ve got a hair appointment,’ or ‘I don’t feel well.’ Once you’d signed up, you were in.
     
    Kelly had never done any ballroom dancing before in her life, and she loved it. As for her partner, Louis van Amstel, he couldn’t have been better. Like all the best teachers, he was both patient and inspirational. He nurtured her, he gave her confidence at a time in her life when she was feeling she’d fucked everything up. He put her on a path and made her feel good about herself. As far as I am concerned, that show saved her life.
    The physical transformation – clearer eyes, dewy skin, weight loss and improved muscle tone – came later, but mentally I saw a change in her almost straight away. Not only was she dancing every day, but she was doing Pilates to strengthen her inner core. Louis was like a life coach for her. He adored her and she adored him. They’re still in touch.
    She’d call me at 7 a.m. most days during the rehearsal period.
    ‘Hi, Mummy, just calling to say hello before I leave for practice.’ She sounded cheerful, purposeful . It was a joy to hear. I didn’t want to bother her by going down every day to watch, and besides they were in a dance studio getting on with it and didn’t want constant interruptions. But after a few weeks of rehearsals, and shortly before the first show aired, she called me as usual in the morning.
    ‘Mum, I really want to show you my dance.’
    So I went down to the studio, feeling faintly sick with anticipation. I knew how much it meant to her to get this right.
    She was wearing leggings under a long dance skirt, her hair scraped back from her face. The track, ‘Trouble’ by Ray LaMontagne, filled the room and she started to do the most exquisitely graceful waltz. Oh my God, it was magical, so innocent. I could tell by the look of concentration on her face that she was trying really hard.
    I was so overcome that I fell silent. I couldn’t trust myself to speak, I just drank it all in: this precious minute and a half of my beautiful daughter dancing her heart out with her professional partner. Just three months earlier, I had been part of an intervention because I was so worried about her well-being, and now here she was, healthy, super-fit, focused and just utterly, utterly gorgeous. Her voice punctuated my reverie.
    ‘Mum, what do you think?’ She was staring at me intently.
    ‘Darling, I’m just in awe of you, and so proud.’ I had tears in my eyes and a huge lump in my throat.
    One week later, she glided out in front of the nation, many of whom had probably read that she’d been in rehab and were thinking, Oh, here’s the nightmare wild child.’ They knew the story and were waiting for something to go wrong, but she just blew them away. When this slight figure in a floor-length, electric-blue ballgown appeared I grasped Ozzy’s arm in a flood of emotion. She was so beautiful. And you could see the joy on her