No Consequences

"Are you okay?" Martina asked George with genuine concern.

"Are you?" George responded. "He's been fairly transphobic ever since you came out."

Shrugging, Martina sipped on her wine. "Let's hope Graham is right and that he has changed dramatically. Otherwise, I've got Matthew to defend me."

Laughing as they sipped their drinks, it was still a shock to the system when Francis walked into the English Rose. He was no longer the fat bastard they remembered, having lost a large amount of weight, and he appeared healthy for it. He also no longer shaved his head, and his naturally dark hair had been allowed to grow, leading to initial confusion from those who'd only ever seen him with a skinhead.

"Martina, George, it's lovely to see you."

"Is it?" George asked, uncertain that the change in Francis' appearance transferred over to his personality.

"I can understand that you have... concerns about meeting me again, both of you, and for that I apologise profusely. The last few years in which we were friends, there were moments that I was a complete bellend, and I'm sorry that you were forced to deal with my behaviour."

Martina responded before George could muster a response. "That's appreciated, Francis. It would be nice if we could start again."

Letting out a humongously relieved sigh, Graham interrupted. "Right, sorry to interrupt, but drink anyone?"

There were the usual calls for IPAs or ciders, but Francis instead requested fruit juice, and as the evening progressed, everyone became increasingly relaxed and friendly. Despite George's initial concerns, it was a relief to find that his cousin was no longer reactionary, abusive, or just generally angry at the world, and it was almost a sad moment when he had to leave. As he said his goodbyes as he awaited a taxi, Francis asked if he'd mind if he came out with him, and George couldn't think of a reason why not, especially after a few drinks in.

'It's been nice to see you, cousin." Francis spoke with genuine warmth in his voice.

"Despite my concerns," George responded, "it's been nice for me too."

"I'm glad that we can get over everything," Francis grinned. "I made such a mess of everything when I was a drunken fuck; it's nice I can have your forgiveness."

George's newfound positivity took a direct hit. "I mean, it's certainly good that you've improved," he responded with a smile he no longer felt, "but forgiveness could take a little bit longer."

Francis' smile wavered. "What? You don't forgive me? But you just said it was nice to see me!"

George shrugged. "To be honest, you messed up a lot, so there's a lot to forgive. And you've been great for one night, but there's a lot of time to make up for."

His mask shifting, Francis' snarled. "So what? It doesn't matter that I'm no longer who I was? That I'm no longer an alcoholic?"

Keeping his voice as neutral as possible, George replied, "You don't have to be an alcoholic to be a dick; in your case, I believe it merely exacerbated your natural tendencies."

"Go fuck yourself." Francis snarled, getting up into George's personal space.

To George's relief, his taxi arrived at that moment.

"You may no longer be drinking," he said as the taxi pulled up next to him, "but I will not automatically forgive you for the shit you put my family through just because you've finally recognised you fucked up royally." Opening the door to the vehicle, he greeted the driver and gave his name. "I hope that eventually you can recognise that just because you've forgiven yourself, that doesn't mean anyone else has to do the same. You have to earn it."

And with that, she shut the door, and the taxi driver took off.

A few minutes later, George received a text message from Graham.

'Wht hppened? Francis hs cme bck angry. Dd u hav a fallin out?'

Considering his response, George finally answered.

'I attempted to explain that making yourself a better person doesn't mean you have to be forgiven by those you previously abused, and that being a better person now isn't an excuse for being a complete asshole previously." He couldn't bring himself to abbreviate.

There were no more messages until the next morning, when George's phone rang loud enough to wake both him and Louise and the baby.

"The fuck is that," he muttered, his head aching. "Yello?"

"Mate, I need you to come around." It was Graham, his voice low and breaking. "It's Francis, mate; you won't fucking believe it."

Chapter 7

Pulling his car into Graham's street, George was greeted by the sight of a police presence, both a car and a van. Parking in the closest spot and explaining who he was to the officer on the door, he was waved inside to be greeted by the dishevelled sight of Graham covered in nothing but a blanket.

This is your friend, sir?" The officer speaking to Graham asked.

"Yeah, it is; hi mate, thanks for coming." Giving a wan smile despite Graham's build, he looked small and frightened, like a child awaiting the oncoming punishment.

"I just can't believe it, mate. Where's Francis now?"

"A unit is currently looking for him," the officer interjected, "but if we can get back to clarifying what you just told me?"

"Of course, I'm sorry." Graham tensed.

"It's okay, sir, nothing to worry about. I just need to make sure this is accurate. So you'd been to the pub with the suspected offender; he requested to stay the night with you as he lives there." He paused, checking his notes, and said, "Halfway across town, and you accepted, allowing him to sleep on the sofa. You went to bed upstairs as normal, sleeping naked as normal, and you woke up to find Francis penetrating your anus from behind."

White as a sheet, Graham struggled to swallow. "Yes. You then asked him to stop, to which he replied, 'Shut the fuck up and just lie there, faggot.' Is this correct?"

Graham couldn't even speak to answer; he just Graham cHe then continued until he ejaculated, where he then used your bathroom before leaving your house."

"Mate," George placed a hand supportively upon his friend's shoulders, "I'm so sorry; I shouldn't have left you at the pub with him."

With a shrug, Graham managed to speak. "It wasn't your fault; no one could have known this would have happened."

"I just need to confirm from you that you made no offers of sex or engaged in any other forms of sexual or intimate behaviour?"

"I didn't, no."

The office put down their tablet. "If that's everything, Graham, we'd like to escort you to the hospital, where we can do a full-body examination. You haven't showered since?"

"No, no shower. George, I was hoping you'd come with me to the hospital. Is that okay? I don't really want to ask my parents; I don't want to tell them I've, you know, been... you know." His face looked grim, with bags around his eyes, as if he'd not slept for thirty days.

"Don't worry, mate, I'll be there for you."

After a brief phone call to Laura explaining where he was and the reason behind it all, he followed Graham in the police car up to A&E, where, even after a request from the police for an 'urgent' review, due to the busyness of the unit, they sat there for three hours before Graham was finally seen.

While waiting outside while the doctors reviewed Graham, George's phone began to ring; a quick check showed it was his uncle Fred.

"George!" His uncle spoke without preamble. "Why have I had the police come to my door? What's this I hear about an assault involving Francis? Is he okay? The officers refused to give us much detail. " Since the wedding, his aunt and uncle had made no effort to make amends or apologise.

"Francis is fine," George answered, accompanied by an eye roll, "but I've been informed that it's actually him who's committed the assault."

"What nonsense is that?" Fred demanded. "Of course he hasn't committed an assault; he's my boy!"

"Fred," George intoned quietly, "I'm sitting right here in the hospital with the victim. I can assure you that Francis has definitely done this."

To his relief, Fred went quiet. "It wasn't Louise, was it?" He asked in an unusually quiet tone.

"No, it's not Louise; I'm not at liberty to say who it was. I have to go," he said, seeing Graham exit from an observation room, "but if you see Francis, please tell the police. He's gone too far this time." Without waiting for an answer, he turned his phone off. "All done?" He asked Graham, who nodded wordlessly.

The officer who'd brought Graham in followed them out of the hospital. "Graham, before you go, just remember you have my office's direct number. We'll be taking statements from those present last night, so please keep any discussion with them about this situation to a bare minimum."

"Will I be required to make a statement?" George queried.

Yes, sir, we'll contact you later about a time, but Graham has already given us yours and other contact information."

A quick handshake, and he walked off purposefully. George and Graham made their way back to the car, where Graham broke down in tears.

"I just--I can't fucking believe it, mate. I thought I was being a good friend by letting him stay over; it's not like he'd even had anything to drink. It's just... completely revolting."

As George opened his arms, Graham fell into them, his head pressing against George's chest as George stroked Graham's hair, reassuring him.

"It's fucking awful, mate," agreed George. "No matter what, no one deserves that. He's absolute scum, always has been." Sighing, he asked, "Did I ever tell you about Sammy?"

With a nod, Graham sat up. "You said he was accused of rape, but there was no evidence. That he wasn't interviewed."

"Well, you've got evidence now, mate. When the police do find him, with your testimony, he could potentially go to jail for some time."

Rubbing his eyes and sniffing to clear his pores, Graham hiccuped. "Mate, if I ever say I'm interested in someone again, give me a slap, yeah?" He laughed, but George remained serious.

"This is shit, mate, worse than shit; this is a shit a shit would have. But don't let that rapist wanker stop you from finding love again, even if you're just careful. What I have with Louise is just amazing, mate, and if you have the opportunity to ever have anything similar to that, you should take the chance; do not let someone else's actions put you off."

The drive back to Graham's house was quiet, but upon returning George spent a lot of time ensuring that his friend was going to be okay by himself, assuring him he could sleep over at his and Louise's if he needed company. It was only when Graham agreed that he went home. George could only guess how Francis would react and what the fallout of his abusive actions would be.

Chapter 8 (six months later)

Standing there in the courtroom, George was apprehensive. He'd given his statement, been cross-examined, and sat in the witness box at the crown court before spending most of his time with Graham in the public seats over the week of the trial. The jurors had been deliberating for the majority of the day, and while he could have gone home, he'd wanted to be here for Graham, even if it meant uncomfortably passing by his aunt and uncle as they sat in the cafe.

While they recognised that Francis had made a mistake, Fred was angry at George for making a statement against his cousin. His uncle was insistent that what he was doing would tear the family apart, while George countered that Francis had made that decision by raping someone, a fact his uncle was determined to ignore as a mere inconvenience.

George's father had declined to act as representative for either Francis or Graham, a decision that Fred decided was another sign of 'there' side of the family choosing sides, even though Terry had made that decision with the sole purpose of preventing such accusations of choosing sides, and this itself left the brothers own relationship precariously balanced.

Louise and Martina joined Graham and George halfway through the afternoon, having left the children with her parents. Martina had also given a statement, but due to work she had been unable to stay for the whole trial. Her participation was also seen as an act of disloyalty, but as Francis had publicly mocked her transition without rebuke, his lawyer even using it to question her mental state, she made it clear she didn't give a flying fuck. Loyalty went both ways, and Francis' had stopped long ago.

Halfway through a cup of coffee, they were informed the jurors had made a decision, so, finishing up quickly and avoiding the gaze of Fred and Marjorie, they all tramped back into the courtroom and took their respective seats, listening to all the necessary legal mumbo-jumbo until eventually: Could the foreman of the jury please give the verdict."

"On the count of rape, the jury finds the defendant guilty."

A ripple of shock ran around the court, and Francis' mother began crying silently. The judge made his decision immediately.

"With the verdict of guilty and the evidence presented during trial of his lack of empathy, I sentence him to eight years imprisonment."

George heard nothing more of what the judge said, with Graham and his auntie both sobbing, one from relief and the other in despair, and both Fred and Francis standing up and shouting, Fred at his son, Francis at the judge and jury.

"You can't fucking do that! I didn't fucking do it! I'm going to fuck you up, all of you. I'll find where you live, and I'll fuck you up bad! He fucking wanted it, faggot!" Francis yelled at the court, ignoring the judge's cries for order and his father's shouting, Let it go, son! We'll take it to appeal! You have to stop, please, stop!" Tears began to fall down Fred's face, matching those of his wife. "You're just making it worse!"

The police officers and security personnel present in the courtroom were forced to restrain Francis, who, as he refused to accept that he'd been found guilty, was eventually removed from the courtroom.

With order restored, proceedings continued until they were eventually dismissed after all the final necessary legal work had been completed. Thanking his solicitor before leaving, Graham, still in tears, left with George, Louise, and Martina. They didn't intend to celebrate, but there was a sense of relief among them all that, for now, justice had been served. It was agreed by all four of them that they'd head to the English Rose for a drink, with George and Louise especially making the most of a childless day due to free grandparent labour.

Walking into the bar, Graham looked around and sighed.

"Even with him locked away, I think I'm going to struggle to come here without thinking of him."

"We can go somewhere else," Martina offered, "as long as it's not the bloody horseshoes."

After spending a moment to consider it, Graham shook his head. "No, while I can't imagine coming here full time, it'd be nice to say a sort of goodbye to this place."

So they sat there, the four of them--husbands and wives, sisters, and friends--and drank a beer and had a giggle. Although it had been fourteen years since George had sat there with three other people, he realised the sensation was the same, even if most of the people were different. But he was pleased to be able to spend time with his wife; he was glad Martina had found her real self; she was so much more comfortable in who she was now; and he was also relieved that his best friend had received the justice he deserved.

"So," George asked as the evening progressed, one drink turning into many, "I've bought a round; Martina's bought a round; Graham's bought a round. Louise, it's your turn."

Now, bloody wait a minute!" Louise replied, slightly rheumy-eyed. "If you buy a beer, then it's like I've bought a beer, so surely it's one of these two's turns to get the next round in?"

George shook his head sadly. "Why is it," he said with a wink to Martina, "that there's always one tightwad who tries to get out of buying their round?"

He winced as Louise kicked him in the shins, but cheered with the rest as she stood to go and buy the next round anyway, with George deciding to be a good husband and helping his wife carry the drinks back to the table. It was with some shock that, standing next to his wife at the bar, he spotted a familiar with George deci.

She turned around, and, despite the years, there was no denying that this was Sammy--so many years since they'd last met under difficult circumstances.

"Oh," she said, uninterested, "it's George, isn't it?"

Yes, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disturb your evening. This is Louise, my wife."

"Hello." They spoke to each other politely but with little emotion.

Samantha's eyes narrowed as she looked around the pub. "Francis isn't going to turn up his nose?"

"No, he's not," George replied fervently, "I know that previously we've not always seen eye to eye, but I just needed you to know that as of today Francis has been sent to prison for rape."

Her expression changed from boredom to genuine shock.

"Rape? Seriously?"

"Seriously. And I know that, while it may not be for what he did to you, you may take some satisfaction that, after all these years, he's finally got what's coming to him."

Sammy began to cackle in glee, but George could still see the glint of tears in her eyes. While there is no doubt it was great to find justice served, it was undoubtedly bittersweet that she would never get a personal victory.

As they waited to be served, Sammy disappeared without warning, and George, sad not to be able to say goodbye, was at least pleased she had some form of closure.

Finally walking back to the table, drinks in hand, George reminisced over how he'd once thought his life would be like in the future and how different it was now, but upon placing the drinks down on the table and sitting there with his friends, he realised that despite everything, he was happy. And that, more than anything else, meant everything to him.