The Committee for Unreasonable Women

How it begins

The third refusal was the neatest.

Lillian Brooks laid it beside the other two on her kitchen table, aligning the corners. The council had changed its stationery since January. Apparently money existed for a nicer shade of cream.

Her application to rent a market stall had been considered unreasonable. No reason accompanied the adjective.

She had repaired radios, toasters and electric fires from the back room of her house for eleven years. Her workbench was presently occupied by a kettle belonging to the chairman of the market committee. He had described the repair as urgent.

Lillian unplugged it.

At half past nine she walked to the bus depot carrying the three letters and a folding chair. The chair was heavy. It had been made at a time when furniture was expected to defend itself.

Dorothy Reed watched her come through the depot gates.

'If that's for the waiting room, they'll refuse it.'

'Why?'

'Private furniture on public premises. I asked in March.'

Lillian set the chair down. Dorothy showed her the waiting room, where six people stood beneath a sign thanking them for their patience.

'There used to be a bench,' Dorothy said. 'They took it out for cleaning.'

'When?'

'November.'

A bus reversed across the yard. Dorothy raised a hand, and the driver stopped without needing to ask what she meant. It occurred to Lillian that half the town depended on this woman's judgment every morning.

'Have they ever called you unreasonable?' she asked.

Dorothy opened the drawer beneath her desk. Inside lay a folded letter on the council's older, cheaper paper.

Lillian placed her own three letters beside it. Then she pulled over a blank timetable sheet.

At the top she wrote COMMITTEE FOR UNREASONABLE WOMEN.

Dorothy read the words twice.

'We will need minutes.'

'We will need a bench.'

For the first time that morning, somebody gave Lillian an answer she could work with.