Carla brushed a strand of hair from her face as she gazed into the mirror, starring hard the same reflection she'd been seeing for forty years. This time though, it was completely different. She had his mouth, she was sure of it. She had her mother's bone structure, she knew that. Sharon Donovan had been stunning once upon a time; before the drugs and the drink and the heartbreak had eroded her features and left behind only the gaunt, frail shell that was the only image of her Carla would ever remember. But her lips had been smaller, thinner. She struggled to fully picture the man she'd grown up believing to be her father, especially such a small detail so many years after she'd last seen him at the age of 12, but she was sure it hadn't look like that, either.
No, she'd definitely got that mouth from him. The way it curved just so when she smiled. The shape, the form, the colour - is lip colour even inherited from genes? For years she'd taken pride in her appearance, spent hundreds on makeup and facials over the years. But right at that moment, she'd never felt so ugly. It took all she had not to claw at her skin until nothing was distinguishable; she'd rather be horrifically disfigured that spend another day with that man's facial features.
Turning away from the mirror in disgust, she caught sight of her phone, the screen lit up as it rang, long since having been silenced. Eventually it rang out. 6 missed calls : Johnny Connor.
Johnny Connor. She grinned mockingly at the memory. Sat in this well decorated, tidy lounge, glass of brandy in one hand, remote in the other. Match Of The Day blaring. "This is one indulgence of the day" he'd protest. They'd all laugh, but it was true. He'd always been a family man as well as a businessman. Working long hours, but always finding time for day trips with the family; shopping, sports days, road trips. Carla had always been so jealous, wished with everything that she could have a family like that.
Oh, the irony.
But clearly, good old Johnny's family man facade had been as fake as her illusion of emotional stability. She strongly doubted her mother had been his only extra-marital fling. Not given the calm and collected manner he'd clearly dealt with it all. For years they must've passed on that estate. Drunk in the same pub, been part of the same family after Carla had married Paul - she couldn't even contemplate that one yet, and never once had he showed any signs of anything being wrong. Any regret, any remorse, was either non existent or hidden incredibly well. And no one just lies like that unless they've had practice.
In some ways, that made it oddly better. Maybe that perfect family life that he'd deprived her of, that she'd grown up envying, didn't exist at all. Maybe they were all deprived of it, not just the daughter he rejected. Maybe Aidan and Kate, the ones he wasn't ashamed of, had equally seen his public facade and wished it was real. But of course, that was selfishness. None of this was their fault. They hadn't asked for their father to sleep with another woman before they'd even been born, and hard as it going to be, she knew she'd have to remember that. It was the only reason she wasn't already on the phone to them, telling them everything in a 1000mph rant whilst downing a bottle of vodka.
The sound of the front door opening brought her back from her thoughts. "Carla? You in?" The upbeat tone in Nick's voice filled her with dread. Now she had to tell him.
The second he walked into the room, he noticed. She knew he would, even without the smudged mascara or the fact that she'd promised to meet him in the pub an hour ago and hadn't shown. He was by her side in seconds, kneeing in front of her as she perched precariously on the edge of the chair in front of the dresser. "Hey, what's up?"
She smiled through the tears that had already returned. With a deep breath, she spoke quietly. "You're gonna need a drink".