1998 - Round Ireland with a fridge (39 page)

He thought for a moment.

‘No I suppose not Not really.’

We returned to the table for dessert wine. These people knew how to have lunch. It was nearly five o’clock, and what’s more the restaurant was still full. My taxi arrived and I got up to go. Gerry Ryan stood and raised his glass, and the rest of the table followed suit.

‘To the Fridge Man!’ he said, loud enough for everyone in the restaurant to hear.

‘To the Fridge Man!’ came the response.

As I walked out of that restaurant pulling my fridge behind me for the final time, everyone on Gerry’s table began applauding politely. Astonishingly, some people on a few of the other tables started to join in. Others looked up to see what was going on, and when they saw me and a fridge, they too joined in, possibly thinking it was somehow expected of them. Soon everyone in the restaurant was applauding, with cheers, whistles and laughter thrown in for good measure.

I felt great The anti-climax of yesterday didn’t matter anymore. I understood now. Yesterday had been phoney, this was real. Yesterday I had been saying ‘Look at me’. It hadn’t been right and it hadn’t really worked, and I should have known that having learned that lesson when Elsie had showed me off in the golf clubhouse in Ballina.
Now
it was working, and it was working because I was walking humbly out of a restaurant with no airs and graces, affectations or histrionics. The restaurant’s diners picked up on this and were offering their spontaneous and unaffected appreciation of someone for whom they had a peculiar nagging respect. This moment was a special one and I cherished it.

I looked round and saw that the Gerry Ryan table were still all on their feet, and others in the room were rising to theirs. Just incredible. When the Hollywood script is written this ending might be considered too schmaltzy. Tough. They wouldn’t be interested in this anyway—this
happened
.

So it was that a Triumphal Exit and not a Triumphal Entry was to prove the fitting climax to this strangely moving adventure. I was glad that I was to leave Ireland exactly as I had found it over the previous four weeks: warm, accommodating and enjoying a drink.

By the time I reached the taxi, my eyes had welled up with tears.

‘Are you all right there?’ said the cabbie as he opened the door for me.

‘Yes, I’m just happy.’

‘Oh right. Where to?’

‘Dublin airport.’

I was leaving Ireland. The affair was over, but the friendship had just begun.

R
oisin hasn’t called.