“Being alone is supposed to be an issue for people such as me, but I have to say I find it deeply satisfying. Human company is necessary at times, I admit, but it is almost always irksome in one way or another.”

In the novel’s initial pages, Veronica makes it quite clear that she has no use for humanity. At this point, the reader has no idea why she holds this attitude. It might be tempting to attribute it to old age; however, as her past unfolds, we learn that she has good cause for this dislike.

“There are three types of people in this world, Very. (He called me Very.) There are those who make the world worse, those who make no difference and those who make the world better. Be one who makes the world better, if you can.”

Veronica is recalling a piece of advice given by her father decades earlier. As a woman in her eighties, Veronica follows this advice by picking up trash on the beach, thinking that this is the only way she can make the world better. She doesn’t yet realize the impact she will soon have on the ecosystem.

“She looks me up and down. Me: spliff in hand, ripped jeans, crumpled T-shirt, hair a mess, face unshaven and my whole body reeking like a pig shed. Her: all dressed up smart in a starchy jacket and pleated skirt. Not quite twinset and pearls, but almost.”

Patrick is offering his first impression of Veronica. She is starched disapproval. In contrast, he is disheveled, and he knows it. Veronica has taken him by surprise with her early visit. She did this deliberately to discover what sort of person her grandson was. Both parties are displeased by what they find.