Trafford Publishing: Tides Must Turn

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Tides Must Turn

by Gaynor Hensman

254 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-1196; ISBN 1-4120-3369-1; US$23.00, C$28.75, EUR18.69, £12.95

Secret passion, secret hopes, secret dreams. This is Melissa's story - often hilarious, at times heartbreaking. This powerful and evocative novel contains a devastating twist that is totally unpredictable.

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about the book about the author excerpts catalogue info

About the Book

Her hands lay limply in her lap and if Joyce looked closely she could see the small broken pieces of skin and minuscule areas of scar tissue, which were the remnants of Melissa's habit of biting at her fingers around the nails when she was anxious, nervous or excited. Her legs swayed very slightly in the space between the high hospital bed and the floor below. Then very slowly, her voice almost inaudible like a whisper from the past, she began to speak and as she did so Joyce took her hand and stroked it affirming an unspoken trust that now seemed to exist between them.
Autumn, 1971 - what will Melissa reveal to the midwife, Joyce, about the three years preceding the birth of this baby girl she seems determined to reject? Will she reveal who the father is? More importantly will she be able to share with Joyce the most awful secret of all?
Spring, 1969 - Melissa is 15 and her world changes forever when she meets the artist and teacher - Jonathan. He tells her she looks uncannily like Lizzy Siddal the artist's model who married Rossetti and died so tragically. When Melissa models for Jonathan secretly can they develop a friendship that is purely platonic when both of them want more?
This is a story of the pain and pleasure of first love, of friendship and unconditional loyalty, of sexual awakening and discovery, of unbearable choices and ultimately of hope - without which there is no future.
From Lancashire and London in England to Toledo and Barcelona in Spain we touch on the lives of many characters most of whom harbour their own secrets. Often hilarious and at times heartbreaking this powerful and evocative novel contains a devastating twist that is totally unpredictable.

About the Author

GAYNOR HENSMAN worked in many capacities including artist's model, sales representative, retail manager and estate agent before returning to study as a single parent. Having attained a BA Hons (Drama, English, Art) and a PGCE, she subsequently worked as a Lecturer in Drama and Theatre Studies and, latterly, Programme Leader for Performing Arts. She directed both student and community productions in West Yorkshire and Cambridge. In 1999 she successfully adapted the screenplay Brazen Hussies by Martyn Edward Hesford which was originally screened by BBC2 and starred Julie Walters and Robert Lyndsay. This world premiere stage adaptation was performed by students at the ADC Theatre in Cambridge receiving approval and praise from the writer, Martyn, who attended the production.
Gaynor is justifiably proud of her three children, Gibran, Tamasin and Sarah-Jane who have now flown the nest and found their own paths to skip along.
Tides Must Turn is Gaynor's first novel.

Excerpts

PROLOGUE -1971
She could hear voices; they had an intense surreal quality punctuated with echoes like those often experienced underwater. There were moments of intense dancing light teasing her senses and facilitating her escape to this other place. Then suddenly it revealed itself, like the ever present demon around the corner in a nightmare, but worse because it clearly existed. Now, with a fierce and determined precision it was permeating the very core of her tolerance - pain so excruciating she had no ability to control or bear it. A grunt, slowly metamorphosising into a scream, so overwhelming and piercing it shook her into wakefulness and brought knowing and understanding glances from the women in the room, prompting further activity that she wanted no part of.
Melissa was aware now that the sequence was complete, the transient embrace of denial was unable to contain her, and she was being propelled back to the present. It was relentless and somehow beyond her control as certainly as the use of the gas and air machine had seemed to be within it some time ago. The women had turned away momentarily dealing with the routine business associated with the immediate minutes after childbirth. The infant, calm and unusually subdued as if she was aware of what was to come, endured the customary checks and invasions without protest.
The midwife looked at the young mother, just a girl really. It was hard the first time especially when you were so young and not a soul there to support you. She had seen it so many times, especially over the last few years since women had supposedly been given more control over their own destinies. Joyce Harding did not hold with all this natural childbirth business either - women screaming their heads off and men in the delivery room getting in the way, neither use nor ornament or so it seemed to her. Give me tradition, she thought, and a loving husband who knows when to let women get on with what they know best, allowing him access only when all the detritus had been cleared away and newborn and mother alike had been made presentable. Old fashioned it might be but Joyce knew she was right; hadn't she given birth to, and brought up, four of her own and husband Jim non the wiser about what went on in the labour ward. After all this was Lancashire not London where anything seemed to go these days. Well it might be 1971 and times had changed, but childbirth was still a joyous occasion; even after all her years of experience it still brought a lump to her throat when a child entered the world despite the unpredictability of its future. As she turned back to the mother and their eyes locked, Joyce knew in an instant that the next few hours, if not days, were going to be crucial. Who knew what the outcome might be for the little girl as yet untouched and, to all intents and purposes, rejected by her young mother. As for Melissa herself, Joyce could only sigh and thank God that she had never been in such a predicament.
"No I don't want to hold her. Take her away and give me some pain killers before I go out of my mind." Melissa knew what they would all be thinking but she could not make herself feel what she assumed should be a maternal reaction; she was experiencing the pain and indignity of this whole process without any of the associated joys. How could she feel elated or maternal when she did not want, and never had wanted, this baby? She must maintain this distance or she knew she would be lost. The memories and grief were waiting in the wings to take centre stage and glory in her fall. What a fall that would be! If these nurses thought they had heard even an iota of the pain she really felt just let the curtain go up on the real drama and they would be running to the emergency exits in an attempt to escape the ferocity of her anger, self loathing and abhorrence for the man who had given her the responsibility of making this choice.
Joyce spoke softly now her professionalism and experience breaking the tension, "Come on Melissa, the baby needs you. Just try to hold her and I am sure you will feel better, love."
"I have already told you I don't want to hold her and I bloody well don't need you to take that condescending tone with me. All I want is for her to be gone and for you to give me some painkillers." She was resolute, despite the tears welling and a tightening in her chest that threatened to squeeze the life from her if she had to be here a moment longer. As she spoke a cloud momentarily obscured what little late afternoon sunlight had pervaded the room, and she almost lost her resolve as the gloom reflected both her present state of mind and her destiny. She was eighteen and felt a great chasm of uncertainty open up before her; the sense of being totally and irrevocably alone. A choice she had made some months ago, but the full impact of what it meant was now surfacing and cloaking her with uncharacteristic apprehension.
Despite all their attempts to get her to hold or even look at her daughter, Melissa held out and found herself some time later being offered something inedible to eat accompanied by unwanted and overpoweringly cheerful banter. As visiting time was nearing an end and she watched the selection of doting fathers and grandparents leave she retreated further into the comfort of the sterile sheets. Before the onset of much welcome and obliterating sleep she reached for the crumpled piece of paper in the drawer by her bedside and, as she read, the tears won their long battle and ran endlessly down her flushed cheeks.
FROM CHAPTER TWO - 1969
Susan had been wondering where Melissa was, she was usually on time for school, when she spotted her flying across the playground, an unwitting siren; Art folder over her shoulder, skirt fulfilling its task of covering her buttocks and her feral hair almost obscuring her field of vision. "Hi Mel, bad news, well bad news for you anyway! There has been a timetable change; that snotty cow Miss Jones has been out to tell us that we have her for double Maths first today instead of Art." Susan grinned knowing how disappointed her friend would be to miss her Art lesson and the attention of Mr Pritchard. She found it unbelievable that Mel could be so besotted by a teacher, although she had to admit he was fun and his class was more enjoyable than bloody Maths. God though he must be at least thirty, positively ancient, foreign looking and not really what she thought could be classed as handsome.
She dropped her bag on the floor and spat out her chewing gum her aim, as always, perfect. It landed in the far corner of the waste bin congealing with the remnants remaining from previous days to form a vulgar, but ingenious, veneer to what was in effect a very ordinary and dull bin! She took out her mirror and found the small tin of Vaseline which she carefully applied to her full lips making them shine and immediately handed it to her friend who performed the same ritual. They both combed their long hair; Susan's was as black as coal and straight whilst Melissa had even longer silky deep auburn locks which just touched the base of her spine. She had a substantial maroon hair band to contain it as its outrageous tendency to fly about her face, like serpentine tendrils blissfully released from captivity, affected her concentration. Lately it also impeded her view of Jonathan Pritchard!
The procedure continued with both girls engaged for some minutes in the desperate attempt to make their skirts look longer. They knew they would be in serious trouble if they did not touch the knee because the aforementioned Miss Jones was notorious for her inspections. She was a woman who, for some ore reason, seemed to be in a permanent state of disapproval. They undid the zips and expertly balanced the skirts delicately on their hips thus giving the appearance of respectability. It was during these manoeuvrings that Melissa looked up momentarily and almost caught the zip in her knickers as she let out an audible gasp for she had seen Jonathan going in to the staff entrance and her heart sang.
After morning break Melissa and Susan reapplied the Vaseline to their waiting lips and restored their skirts to the fashionable shorter length as Mr Pritchard did not seem in any haste to enforce school regulations. As they walked in to the Art room, Susan whispered to her friend, "Mel could you cover for me and say that I left my Art homework on the bus when I came to your house at the weekend?" Melissa looked dubious; she had heard this one before, many times in fact over the last two years and was losing patience with Susan's obvious lack of interest in any subject. It particularly grated when she pulled these stunts with Mr Pritchard who seemed to be taken in, believing Susan who was actually an accomplished and somewhat imaginative liar in such matters. As he was relatively new he had not been subject to the full gamut of Susan's stock of insouciant excuses and those she had utilised so far, with Melissa's unwilling assistance, had seemed plausible.
Mel scrutinised Susan's taught, expectant face and despite her genuine love for her friend, she found herself saying, "Not this time Mel, the exams are in two months and I can't afford to get on the wrong side of Mr Pritchard. He will start to question you soon if you never hand in any work or prepare for assessments. I don't know why you don't just own up and ask him for more time, it would be better in the long run.' She knew she was sounding more like an admonishing parent than a school friend and a part of her hated herself for it, but the stronger pull was from her sense of what was right, her steadfast resolution to achieve excellent grades to take her place in the Sixth Form and her undeniable need to please Jonathan.
"You bloody cow Mel! It's not the exams at all is it? You just don't want to get in his bad books 'cause you fancy the pants off him that's why. Just bloody admit it and stop trying to kid yourself. Some friend you are Mel Johnson!" Susan's raised voice brought a concerned look from Jonathan Pritchard, who had just arrived in the room to a perceptible appreciation from the female class members. There were also audible giggles from some of the 'group girls' who dearly hoped that stuck up Melissa Johnson and her stupid, pasty faced side-kick Susan Posthlethwaite would be in trouble. Susan had to admit to Mr Pritchard that she had not completed her work and was sent to an annexe to make a start on completing the required sketches. She threw a dagger glance at Melissa's self righteous face on the way out! When it came to Melissa's turn to show her work and receive Jonathan's considered opinion and grading prediction, she felt her mouth become dry and an unfamiliar and delicious feeling overtake firstly her stomach, making her feel almost sick yet expectant, and then move like a determined and relentless avalanche of sensation to her groin. Her head spun and she clung to familiar, formulaic and welcome words to stop herself becoming a stupefied wreck. She rightly assumed the feelings she was experiencing - painful, pleasurable waves of attraction, were the first stirrings of lust. Melissa had never had such feelings until Jonathan Pritchard's arrival at the school, but embraced them greedily - welcoming their relentless onslaught as one might welcome the momentary pain of the dentist's drill prior to an extraction, knowing it would bring eventual release from pain. She could see no relief in sight here however; she was going to be spending the next two years studying for her Art A Level and would be in even closer proximity to the fascinating Mr Pritchard.
REVIEWS 'Tides Must Turn' what a find. This is the most wonderful fiction I have read for a long time. Congratulations to the Author, Gaynor Hensman. The characters are believable. One can empathise with each and every one. The story makes one laugh and also cry. This writer has a unique talent. Her prose is beautiful, as is her poetry. A book one will read again and experience the same emotion. Next one please .
D. Wrathall. (BA Hons.)

Catalogue Information