These aren't the stories your mother told you.

No, these are the other stories.

Illegals, written by Ben Erington, narrated by Ian McEwan.

When Joseph was submerged in the water, pulling himself along with powerful arms and holding air in his lungs until his chest tightened, he could block out all of the noise from the outside

world, both literal and metaphorical. He found his worries sinking to the bottom of the pool,

left there to settle as he whizzed by, his legs working like pistons, kicking hard.

As he came up for breath, he stopped at the edge of the pool and looked around,

noticing that the others who had joined him in the lanes had left.

He wasn't quite sure how long ago they had finished up,

for he was well and truly in the zone

and had been swimming at speed for well over 30 minutes.

He took the goggles from his eyes, knowing they had grown tight and no doubt left circular indentations on his head.

As he climbed out of the pool, the cool air gave his skin goosebumps,

and he was glad to wrap his towel around his body by the time he got back to the changing rooms.

He dried himself off and got dressed with haste, knowing that he would need to be home in time

to see his son before his bedtime. He put on a thick jacket and beanie hat and prepared

for the chill of the outside.

As Joseph approached the exit, there was a commotion,

perhaps 12 or so people gathering around the glass doors.

They were shut and a brunette woman was locking them.

Somebody was shouting and a few more were pressing their faces up against

the glass, looking out into the night. Joseph got closer and his rucksack dropped from his shoulder,

...