On the campaign trail: There's something about Mary Lou . . .writes Kathy Sheridan.
To anyone stalking the big beasts of the campaign jungle, this petite, smiley prey in the soft blue linen jacket and well-worn tan suede boots is a bit of an enigma.
While the big beasts thump their chests on the streets, then scuttle back to the cave when threatened with a question or two, Mary Lou gets stuck into that old-fashioned thing called door-to-door canvassing.
Some observers might put this down to a Sinn Féin reluctance to be exposed to potentially explosive confrontations in big public places like shopping centres, but the truth is that angry folk are more likely to open fire - so to speak - in the privacy of their own doorsteps. And anyway, she does both.
In Ballymun shopping centre on Monday, the few openly angry shoppers confined themselves to striding stonily through the candidates. When this reporter asked a couple of women to explain their stoniness - the McCabe case? IRA organised crime? - they were thunder-struck.
"They don't interest me. None o' them. Right?" snarled the first, returning to her holiday snaps. "They'd annoy the arse off ya, the way they get in your face," explained her eye-rolling friend. And that was it really.
But the thing about Mary Lou is she doesn't get in your face. This is partly because she prides herself on her listening skills ("the most undervalued skill of all"), but it could also be down to a tactical conundrum here.
How to convince the electorate of a disaffected, working class redoubt like Ballymun that this Rathgar-born, highly-educated, former Fianna Fáiler might have useful insights into their concerns? Simple. You team her up with a local election candidate, known as "Sparky", who refers repeatedly and mockingly to his uncustomary suit as the "tin o' fruit" or "the Communion suit", prides himself on being "a mouth", and whose battle cry is "more consultation".
Ray "Sparky" Corcoran has street cred. He's been involved in voluntary work since he was 15. "Ray is why I'm a mechanic," says a passing youth, asked why he has such a welcome for Sparky.
On this sunny Monday afternoon, there's just the three Sinn Féiners, Sparky, Mary Lou and her campaign manager, plus one big Mary Lou-emblazoned bus prominently parked. She stands back, allowing the local candidate his place in the sun. But the ambling, relaxed demeanour can be deceptive. When Sparky says he has to contact a named man before they start into the shopping centre, her response is quiet but sharp: "I thought this was cleared?" and suddenly you got an insight into the Mary Lou whose regular job is "co-ordinating the work of the party's elected representatives across the island".
"So what are you going to do for us?" asks a woman in the Welfare Rights centre. "Oh loads", she says wryly. Perched on the edge of a desk, she listens first before her twin campaign mantras emerge. Community involvement and getting the vote out. No politician can get things done alone, she says. A hangdog chap in the same office block greets their presence with an old joke - "Don't vote, it'll only encourage them". Mary Lou laughs dutifully. "But this is the big plague - apathy," she sighs later, "and from the most rational, intelligent, sensible people . . ."
But it's not only about apathy. Confusion is rife. "There's another girl going for Sinn Féin", wails a woman helplessly at them, "which one am I voting for?". Well, Mary Lou is going for Europe, someone begins. . . "Jazus", mutters a temporary hanger-on, "what'll they be like when they're handed the third paper in the polling station?"
That night when Mary Lou hits Cabra, veteran party member, Ann Speed, nails the big question for Sinn Féin: "Is there a swing away from Fianna Fáil - and if there is, is it a swing to go out to vote or to stay at home?" Some 30 to 40 canvassers meet up at St Finbarr's GAA club at 7.30 sharp. Teams of up to 14 have been out two to three times a week since January. The local candidates here are bricklayer and outgoing councillor, Nicky Kehoe and Áine Ní Gabhann, a fervent Gaelgeoir and equality worker whose nephew scored for Meath last Sunday.
If the doorsteps are to be believed, there's a staggeringly healthy Questions & Answers viewership around Cabra. Image-wise, Mary Lou's appearance on it - even news of her appearance on it - is a coup. Nicky Kehoe makes a point of asking: "Did you see her on Questions & Answers?"
"Ah yeah, all gangin' up on her," agrees a fan, who may or may not have seen it, "don't mind those Fianna Fáil assholes".
Decentralisation comes up twice, the first time from a woman using very un-civil servant type language to describe how she's set to be decentralised three times in 25 years: "The first when f***ing McSharry f**ked off to Sligo, the second when Reynolds f**ked us down to Longford and the third when that stupid, silly bitch in Donegal . . . I'm not going to f***king Buncrana".
"Buncrana'd be good in the summer," quips Nicky.
Further down, another civil servant points to his upstairs window, declaring : "I was born in the front room up there, and I'm NOT going anywhere . . . You're looking at 20,000 votes for someone who speaks out about it."
Even so, Mary Lou won't lie. "The problem is that most of us are in favour of decentralisation provided it's done in a planned way, and not about political opportunism . . . We can get the responses from our TDs in the House and get them to you - would that be an idea?" she asks, turning hopefully to the troops. "Take a note," she says, mildly but meaningfully, to no great fluttering of notebooks (except from the journalists). Bit more "co-ordination" required here.
Further on, to the soundtrack of the Wolfe Tones blasting out an IRA ditty nearby, a Sinn Féin voter is very exercised about the citizenship referendum.
"I'm not too pleased with the way Sinn Féin is going on that. I live in the real world. That only came into law with the Good Friday agreement to facilitate the nationalists of the North, not for people from Nigeria or Kosovo or anything like that."
Mary Lou won't lie about that either. "We are going to be seeing more and more people from the new communities and that's not going to change. We asked the Government to show us the figures to explain the need for this referendum and when they did, they were minuscule. What is very, very clear is that we haven't had enough time to debate it."
"We're in Europe now . . . the buzzword," adds Nicky.
The man looks at him. "I'm going to give you a bit of friendly advice. Nicky, you keep your mouth shut about that."
He's even less impressed with Mary Lou's contention that two babies born in the same ward would end up unequal as a result of the vote. "The men of '16 didn't die for that."
"They'd die for equality for everyone though," says Mary Lou, uncowed. And so it ended at around 9 p.m., outside Nicky's sister's house for a hug and chat about Mary Lou's 11-month-old daughter, Iseult.
Not a word in nine hours about Garda McCabe, or the peace process or Europe or even about the MEP gravy train.
For the record, if elected, she would take "just above the industrial wage" from her salary. As with all elected Sinn Féin members, the remainder would be "reinvested in constituency services". Is there any point to this relentless, exhausting tramp across Dublin? "People want to have a look at you," she says with a weary grin.