Simply Spiritual by Jacqui Rogers

Author:Jacqui Rogers
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Psychic, medium, healer, biography, spirit, spirit world, spiritual
ISBN: 9781907203749
Publisher: Andrews UK Limited 2013
Published: 2013-05-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine - Friends

I hadn’t known anyone like him before, nor have I since. He was a man of extremes, he loved to shock with his language and his foibles - and although I’m unshockable, he did try. He had a warm sense of humour, but could be so cantankerous and stubborn.

My friend Martin was a lovely chap who would make me laugh, and I learned pretty quickly that it was an honour to know him. He taught me so much.

It was a Sunday morning in March and I was cooking in the kitchen. I had promised my husband a roast dinner, so was busy preparing vegetables when the `phone rang. A gentleman’s voice, or rather what sounded like the voice of a gentle man, echoed down the `phone asking for someone whom I didn’t know. He was adamant that he had the correct number and I remembered my husband’s moan the night before about some bloke who kept calling despite telling him he had the wrong number. I listened patiently. He had a very lovely, beautifully enunciated voice and it somehow made me smile listening to him; he was eager to contact a friend who had worked for Age Concern and used to visit him at his home. I asked him if he had an address for his friend. When he gave me the information, I realised that it was across the other side of town. He obviously had the wrong number but was very insistent that I help him. Somewhat bemused I agreed to try to find his friend and ring him back. I left the house with the beef cooking - the aromas making me hungry - and drove across town to find this address.

I rang the doorbell and a small, round lady with a very kind face answered. She thanked me for coming, but said she no longer worked at Age Concern and was not in a position to be able visit the man. She assured me he was a lovely man, an author named Martin, and he was quite lonely. On reaching home, I called him and told him what she had said. He didn’t speak. I was just going to say goodbye when he asked, “Will you come and visit me?” I was a bit taken aback by this and for a few seconds didn’t know what to say. But then I heard myself saying, “Of course, where do you live?”

The following Thursday, as agreed, I found my way to the address I’d been given, an unassuming apartment block a few minutes away from where I lived. Martin had given me the code needed to enter the outer door of the block. I walked up to the third floor where his door was ajar, so I went in. Martin was sitting in a chair in the lounge, with one arm in a sling; I never did find out why he wore it - he told me a different story every time I asked, but he was never without it.

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