His beauty startled me. He was perfection, silky golden hair just resting at the nape of his neck – flyaway yet dutiful, he might just have woken up or spent hours grooming, it didn’t matter either way, I adore him. His eyes are browny olive, kind eyes that look beyond his immediate surroundings and seem to take in a marvellous world that I don’t see. He is always seated, resting, yet ready for action. When I first saw him I felt I’d come home, that’s him I thought, he’s my Prince Charming, I won’t look further now that I’ve found him. I made sure I passed by him each day, sometimes more than once but I didn’t want to become too obvious. What if people saw me and guessed my secret passion? No, that simply wouldn’t do.

He looked like a Tom to me, or maybe something more exotic, Pedro or Vladimir? When I could contain myself no longer I confided in my best friend - a mistake I feel. Her brows knitted together and she slowly shook her head.

“You’re mad.” Was her initial response. “Barking mad.”

So I laughed along with her and pretended to enjoy the joke. It’s only now, now when the sirens are getting louder and I can feel the warm blood from my freshly cut hand dripping down my arm that I might have to concede. But I hold onto him still, tight, gripping what is mine. I want to take him home, keep him with me forever but it’s too late, they’ve caught me. He might just be a mannequin in a cheap men’s clothing store in Hackney, but to me, he is my everything.