Although we had a doorbell there came a hard series of thuds at the front door. I had spent most of the night on the sofa in the living room with all the lights off whilst watching TV and had been in the midst of my fourth outing to the kitchen to make myself yet another cup of tea.

Here already? I had thought with a sudden stabbing sensation in my chest.

Mum's small thumping footsteps were heard before she came quickly into view in the narrow hallway fastening her pink bathrobe at the front. Her hair was disheveled and her face puffy and just barely cognizant.

"Burgess?" she said, mumbling my name.

Her small hand grabbed a fistful of my gray long-sleeved shirt tightly.

"It's the Pied Piper people, Mum," I said, sounding much calmer than I felt inside.

The fist at the door grew even more aggressive.

"Open up. We're here for Burgess O'Bannon for his safety. Open this door."

It was a woman's voice, middle-aged. I tried to move past Mum to the door but she stood firm to keep me where I was. Although I preferred not to, I moved her aside despite her best efforts to hold onto me and made my way to the door.

Fresh wet night air, the kind that smells of wet concrete and car emissions so unique to living in London, met me when I opened the front door to greet the Pied Piper officers. So did the face of a short middle-aged woman in a dark gray uniform. A man in an identical uniform towered behind her.

The sound of commotion outside reached the hallway; other Piper officers had reached other doors and were already ushering teenagers into large black vans lined along the main street.

"Burgess O'Bannon?" said the female officer.

"Yes," I said.

"You've got one minute to put on your shoes and grab a coat then you're coming with us. Is your mother home?"

"I'm here," Mum said.

I felt her hand clinging to the back of my shirt. The female officer's tone softened just a little.

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"Your son will stay here with me. Go grab his coat and shoes and his ID: either his passport or something like a driving license will do."

"Does he have to go?" said Mum, being polite and as defiant as she dared, "He's not sick or anything."

"It's the law," said the female officer, "I know this is difficult but it's the best thing for your son. He'll be back as soon as the crisis is over. Come on, Mrs. O'Bannon, we don't have much time."

"Okay," said Mum.

She hurried off and grabbed my big puffy gray coat from my bedroom and a pair of scuffed trainers, as well as the requested identification documents.

The cold breeze from outside snuck round the officers and made my PJ bottoms billow.

"Could I just put some underwear on?" I said.

The female officer's patience had worn out.

"No," she said, "What you're wearing is fine. Be a brave boy for your Mum. C'mon."

I could tell Mum wanted to cry, but she would put on a strong face until I was gone.

I put on my coat and slipped on the trainers, which felt weird to put on without socks. My hands were trembling as I tied the laces as quickly as I could. I hugged Mum, feeling her firm warmth for what was likely to be a very long time. Beyond her I could see the closed bedroom doors of my siblings who were most likely still asleep. My brother was too old for the evacuation by two years, my sister too young by three.

There wasn't any time left to say anything to them or to Mum. The female officer grabbed me by the elbow and pulled with a firmness that I didn't like out into the cold night air. Several steps later and then I was in the back of one of the large black vans.

It wasn't an immediate send off. Over the course of about ten minutes more teenagers close to my age were piled inside. A dim green light lit the back of the van. Most of the faces within weren't like mine; most of the concerned faces were either black or Pakistani since the part of Stowchester Mum had moved us to was heavily non-white (and the few that were white were Polish, but I was the only white face in the back of the van).

I was glad to have my big puffy coat (which Dad, who no longer lived with Mum, had brought me last Christmas) because it was getting seriously cold.

The seats in the back of the van were on either side, with a space in the middle. This meant I had to look at the boy who was sitting opposite me. He was Pakistani and his eyes were wide with fear.

The van jerked forward, then after what felt like it had turned a corner it eased into a steady series of stops and starts.

An hour into the drive I sat lurched forward with my head just above my knees. Nausea started to set in from the swaying and jolts of the van in progress. The inside of the van had warmed up enough as to not be painfully cold, but was far from warm. Someone in the van must have wet themselves with fear because the smell of urine came on suddenly. The stench of it knocked me out of the mindless near-sleep stupor I'd let the van's motion lull me into.

Sat in the dark trying to ignore the smell of urine, the scared whimpers of the other teenagers, and the aching tiredness in my head and all over my body…I could only ask myself one question over and over again. Had I made the right decision agreeing to be evacuated, or had my friend?