By the time the girls arrived at Benjamín’s huge trailer, the party was in full swing. Latin American music blared out of two speakers, which were balanced precariously between the open window and the thin, outer layer of the caravan’s insulation. A large, foldable table stood in front of the caravan on the left-hand side. It was laden with an amalgam of multi-coloured bowls and dishes holding an array of different food. On the right, was a smaller table with enough bottles of spirits to open a small bar. There was a 50-litre keg of beer, and columns of plastic cups leaned against the caravan in regimental fashion, just waiting to be used.
“s**t! I think we were supposed to bring food or at least a bottle,” Sarah mumbled. “We look like we’re gate-crashing!”
“Well, if we’d been given more
