Hello and welcome to Sleep Stories with Steph,
A romantic bedtime podcast guaranteed to help you drift off into a calm and restful sleep.
Come with me as we travel into the heart of the Bridlington Hotel,
The most prestigious enterprise on the coast of East Riding.
Meet the characters as they go about their everyday lives,
Albeit amongst scandal and intrigue.
Not a day goes past at the Bridlington without something happening.
But before we begin,
Let's take a moment to focus on where we are now.
Take a deep breath in through your nose.
That's it.
Then let it out on a long sigh.
It is time to relax and fully let go.
There is nothing you need to be doing and nowhere you need to go.
This is your time.
Feel your shoulders melt away from your ears.
Feel the pressure seep away from your cheeks.
And let all the muscles in your face relax.
As you sink into the support beneath you,
Let the pressures of the day seep away.
The Bridlington A series set in an English hotel.
Written and performed by Stephanie Poppins.
Episode 26 It was 12 o'clock midnight when the phone rang in Chef's room.
He didn't recognise the number but something made him answer anyway.
Chef love,
It's Jean.
Benny asked me to give you a bell.
Sitting up a little too abruptly,
Chef grabbed his side.
It still ached where the knife had gone in all those weeks before.
Jean,
Is everything alright?
Making sure the night shift was ticking over as well as she expected,
Jean was on call.
Yeah,
She said there's something wrong with James and you ought to come as soon as possible to the casino.
James.
Now Chef was wide awake.
She's got him in the back office,
She said.
He's losing it,
Screaming about Lady P,
The hotel,
Everything.
I think being the manager's finally got to him.
I thought maybe you could.
.
.
I'm on my way.
Jumping up off the bed,
Chef tugged on his jeans and pushed his head through a Harley Davidson t-shirt.
And in minutes,
He was out of his room,
Running to the casino.
Across the casino floor,
Garish as it was in this hour with its flashing lights and scent of desperation,
And into the back office where Benny was waiting for him.
You alright,
Ben?
What's going on?
It's the end of my shift,
But I couldn't leave him like this.
She stepped aside to reveal a very dishevelled looking James,
Sitting in a crumpled heap in the corner.
He's through there.
I'm sorry to call you,
But he kept saying your name when he wasn't yelling about being the manager and how hard everything was.
I don't know why you've got me stuck in here,
Was all Chef could hear.
I'm the manager of the Bridlington Hotel,
And I can gamble and drink as much as I want.
The back office was small,
Cluttered with boxes and filing cabinets.
James looked like a cornered animal,
His tie loose,
His shirt half untucked,
His eyes wild.
James,
What are you doing?
James's head whipped round for a moment,
Something like flame flickered across his face.
Then the anger surged back.
Oh,
Perfect,
Perfect.
She called you,
I suppose,
Did she?
He pointed to Benny.
So now you think I need a goddamn babysitter?
James,
You're drunk.
I'm fully aware of that,
Said James,
Pushing himself away from the corner.
I'm aware of a lot of things.
Not least of all that Lady P expects me to cook the books.
Not least of all that the Petrovskys are on my case,
Stopping me at every turn.
All I've worked for is now falling apart,
And there's nothing I can do.
Closing the door on Benny,
Chef stepped in closer.
Come on now,
Let me take you home.
Is that a proposition?
I don't have a home any more than you do.
James' laugh was hollow now.
I have a room above a hotel that's bleeding out,
That's what I have.
Then let's get you there.
James didn't fight when Chef took his arm to steady him,
And the walk along the seafront was unexpectedly quiet.
The cool sea air felt good against James' face,
Although it would take more than that to sober him up.
Gazing up at the Bridlington Hotel,
He had lost the awe he felt when he first saw it.
In fact,
He was now rather resentful of his new role,
And all the responsibility he had.
Life was so much easier when he was swanning round on a cruise ship.
Slowly,
Surely,
They made it up the back stairs to James' room,
Chef fishing the key from his jacket pocket.
It was sparse inside,
Almost monastic.
There was a bed,
A desk covered in paperwork,
And a single lamp.
This was where James poured himself into the ledgers and schedules,
And desperate plans he was now responsible for.
Chef lowered James onto his bed.
I'll get you some water,
He said.
But James' hand shot out,
Catching his wrist.
Don't go.
I'm not going anywhere,
Just.
.
.
No.
James' grip tightened.
He looked up,
And his eyes were red,
Desperate,
And full of something that made Chef's chest ache.
Chef,
Please,
Stay.
I need.
.
.
He pulled Chef closer,
And suddenly,
They were too close.
James' breath was hot against his face,
Smelling of whisky and all those desperate dreams.
James,
Just this once.
James' free hand came up to Chef's face.
It was trembling.
Just let me have this,
This once.
I know you don't.
I know I'm not.
But please,
Chef,
Just let me dream.
Please.
Please.
Their faces were inches apart now,
And Chef could feel James' heart hammering.
Tears started to well in his eyes.
I can't,
He said quietly.
James' face crumpled,
And he turned away,
Releasing Chef's wrist to cover his own face with both hands.
Then his shoulder shook with silent sobs that quickly became louder,
Messier.
I'm sorry,
He choked out.
I'm sorry.
God,
I'm so sorry,
Chef.
I just.
.
.
Everything's falling apart,
And you're the only good thing.
Can't even have that,
Because I'm just this stupid kid who fell in love with his straight friend like some pathetic.
.
.
Chef's hand came up to James' jaw,
Firm but gentle,
Turning his face back towards him.
And you think I'm straight?
Before James could answer,
Chef leaned in and pressed his mouth on his.
This wasn't a hungry or desperate kiss,
It was deliberate,
Certain,
A statement written in the space between them.
And when at last he pulled back,
James was staring at him like the world had just rearranged itself.
I'm in love with you,
James,
Said Chef in a quiet voice.
Quiet but certain voice.
I have been that night in the hospital when you held my hand.
You were sitting there for six hours,
Even though you had work the next morning.
But we're different people,
James.
I don't live the life you do,
And I never want to live the life you do.
But you never.
.
.
You didn't.
.
.
Sex isn't casual for me.
Chef's thumb brushed across James' cheekbone,
Wiping away a tear.
It's not something I do because I'm lonely or drunk or scared.
It's the consummation of a deep connection.
I have that connection with you,
James.
So much it terrifies me.
James' breath hitched.
He could feel Chef's chest pressing into his.
He could feel his heart racing.
This couldn't be a dream.
It was real,
Wasn't it?
This was something real.
Then why.
.
.
Because I don't want to be with someone who's a Casanova.
Someone who's going to treat this like it's just another way to blow off steam.
Chef's eyes were fixed on his,
Steady and serious.
I know you could have anyone you wanted.
And make no mistake about it,
So could I.
But that's not the point.
I want to settle down.
I want something real.
Something lasting.
I tried it once with Benny,
But it never felt like this.
The passion just wasn't there.
And I wanted all,
James.
The steamy nights and the solid days.
I want someone who's going to be there in the morning and the morning after that and the morning after that.
James's head was spinning.
His voice barely a whisper.
But I don't want this life.
I want your life,
Chef.
I've just never been brave enough to stop running.
You're going to have to prove it.
Chef stroked James's brow with a hand large enough to be rough,
But surprisingly gentle.
It was obvious this was not a man to be messed with.
He meant every word he said.
Then stay with me tonight,
Here.
There's plenty of room for two.
Not tonight,
Said Chef.
Not when you're drunk and falling apart.
Maybe tomorrow,
Maybe next week.
When you're sober and thinking clearly and you can tell me you're all in.
Not tonight.
No get out clause for you.
I'm not just something to make your pain go away.
James closed his eyes,
Leaning harder into this mountain of a man.
And the closer Chef held him,
The more his tears fell.
He was at this moment being himself for the first time in years.
His true,
Authentic self.
Not James Brighton,
The hotel prima donna,
But James Brighton,
The man with a heart.
The man in love.
These were not tears of desperation,
But tears of relief.
I've wanted this for so long,
He whispered.
I thought I was imagining it.
The way you looked at me sometimes.
The way you always knew when I needed coffee or when to make me laugh or just to stand next to me in the kitchen and not say anything.
You weren't imagining it,
Chef soothed.
But I need you to understand something.
If we do this,
When we do this,
We're committed,
The whole thing,
All the way.
That's the only way I know how to love someone.
James lifted his head.
He was sobering up fast.
This is it for me,
Chef.
You are it.
I can't quite believe this is happening.
They sat together that night on the bed for some time before James lay back and Chef lay down next to him.
Now get some sleep,
You beautiful man.
I'll be here in the morning and we'll talk about this,
Okay?
You promise?
James's voice was unusually small.
I promise,
I've waited this long.
I can wait one more night to do this right.
And as James began to drift away,
His voice drowsy,
Nearly half asleep,
He said,
I love you too,
Just in case that wasn't clear.
Then Chef smiled a real smile,
The kind of smile that reached his eyes and softened all the hard lines.
It's clear.
And as James's breathing evened out into a calm,
Repetitive rhythm,
Chef reached out to take his hand,
But this time,
He didn't let go.
