If friendships are the real love stories of our lives, I can pinpoint the moment I knew Claudia was the one. It was the Saturday night I stood on her doorstep in my pyjamas. I had locked myself out of my house, while collecting a food delivery from the gate, with my two-year-old daughter, Maggie, alone inside. I was grateful for two things: I had my phone (and on it, an app that allowed me to see my daughter safely asleep in her bedroom), and I had my dog, who would have barked and woken my daughter had I left him alone in the house.
But mainly I was grateful for Claudia, who lives opposite me, in Los Angeles. Because I was mortified and distraught and she was calm and collected. Because she made the necessary phone calls to help track down a spare set of keys, and offered to drive me halfway across the city to collect them. Because she fed my dog, and comforted me for the two hours it eventually took for a locksmith to arrive.
