Are you a big suspense reader? Do you have any other favorite authors in this genre?

Yes, I definitely am. I’m just looking at my bookshelf and flicking through my Kindle now, realizing how many brilliant suspense books are on there. Too many to list them all. Lisa Jewell has been one of my favorites for a long time, especially since she started writing darker psychological suspense (although I loved her romantic comedies too). I also love (*takes deep breath*): Louise Candlish, Liane Moriarty, Gillian McAllister, Lucie Whitehouse, Adele Parks, Camilla Way, Clare Mackintosh, Gillian Flynn, Ruth Ware, Holly Seddon, Fiona Barton . . . Seriously, I could go on and on!

Authors from other genres have been a big influence too: Maggie O’Farrell’s incredible use of language; Kate Morton’s mystery-building; David Nicholls’s characters; Anne Tyler’s dialogue; Sadie Jones’s general brilliance. And I have to mention Daphne du Maurier—the original queen of suspense!

What’s next for you?

I’m writing another psychological suspense at the moment, about a woman who is called to a hospital in the middle of the night because a man she’s been on one date with has been rushed in with unexplained injuries. . . . I won’t say much more! I’ve also set part of it in Italy, mainly so I can keep reliving the two holidays I’ve taken there in the last couple of years. . . .

Excerpt from THE OTHER GUEST

Keep reading for an exciting excerpt from Helen Cooper’s new novel, The Other Guest.

1.

JOANNA

Despite everything that had happened, there were times when Joanna loved living alone. When she woke to nothing but birdsong in the morning, and yellow light through her new curtains, and she could starfish across her bed into patches of coolness. Or when she came home after a busy day, poured a glass of wine, and sat in her shady little garden without having to talk or think. Nobody to gate-crash the quiet, to complicate that hard-earned sip of sauvignon blanc.

Then there were the other times, of course.

The nights when she would wake in chilly darkness to a house full of creaks and too much space in her bed. The weekends when all her friends were busy with their families or partners, and her Spotify kept landing on songs that were spiked with memories.

Or the evenings like this one, when a glass of wine and the last rays of June sun weren’t enough to lift the darkness of a truly harrowing day.

Joanna burrowed her bare feet into the grass of her garden, trying to focus on the tickly sensation between her toes. But her head was too full of the awfulness, the guilt. The failings in her department that had almost caused something unthinkable.

Almost, she reminded herself, clenching the stem of her glass.