Mark Scheme
Introduction
The information provided for each question is intended to be a guide to the kind of answers anticipated and is neither exhaustive nor prescriptive. All appropriate responses should be given credit.
Level of response marking instructions
Level of response mark schemes are broken down into four levels (where appropriate). Read through the student's answer and annotate it (as instructed) to show the qualities that are being looked for. You can then award a mark.
You should refer to the standardising material throughout your marking. The Indicative Standard is not intended to be a model answer nor a complete response, and it does not exemplify required content. It is an indication of the quality of response that is typical for each level and shows progression from Level 1 to 4.
Step 1 Determine a level
Start at the lowest level of the mark scheme and use it as a ladder to see whether the answer meets the descriptors for that level. If it meets the lowest level then go to the next one and decide if it meets this level, and so on, until you have a match between the level descriptor and the answer. With practice and familiarity you will be able to quickly skip through the lower levels for better answers. The Indicative Standard column in the mark scheme will help you determine the correct level.
Step 2 Determine a mark
Once you have assigned a level you need to decide on the mark. Balance the range of skills achieved; allow strong performance in some aspects to compensate for others only partially fulfilled. Refer to the standardising scripts to compare standards and allocate a mark accordingly. Re-read as needed to assure yourself that the level and mark are appropriate. An answer which contains nothing of relevance must be awarded no marks.
Advice for Examiners
In fairness to students, all examiners must use the same marking methods.
- Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
- Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
- Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
- Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
- If you have any doubt about how to allocate marks to a response, consult your Team Leader.
SECTION A: READING - Assessment Objectives
AO1
- Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas.
- Select and synthesise evidence from different texts.
AO2
- Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views.
AO3
- Compare writers' ideas and perspectives, as well as how these are conveyed, across two or more texts.
AO4
- Evaluate texts critically and support this with appropriate textual references.
SECTION B: WRITING - Assessment Objectives
AO5 (Writing: Content and Organisation)
- Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively, selecting and adapting tone, style and register for different forms, purposes and audiences.
- Organise information and ideas, using structural and grammatical features to support coherence and cohesion of texts.
AO6
- Candidates must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation. (This requirement must constitute 20% of the marks for each specification as a whole).
| Assessment Objective | Section A | Section B |
|---|---|---|
| AO1 | ✓ | |
| AO2 | ✓ | |
| AO3 | N/A | |
| AO4 | ✓ | |
| AO5 | ✓ | |
| AO6 | ✓ |
Answers
Question 1 - Mark Scheme
Read again the first part of the source, from lines 1 to 9. Answer all parts of this question. Choose one answer for each. [4 marks]
Assessment focus (AO1): Identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas. This assesses bullet point 1 (identify and interpret explicit and implicit information and ideas).
- 1.1 At what time was the tea made?: Half-past four – 1 mark
- 1.2 At what time did Wedderburn's cousin make the tea?: Half past four – 1 mark
- 1.3 How long did the cousin wait?: Ten minutes – 1 mark
- 1.4 What does Wedderburn’s cousin believe explains Wedderburn’s failure to come for tea?: That Wedderburn is preoccupied with the orchid and that Wedderburn’s watch has stopped. – 1 mark
Question 2 - Mark Scheme
Look in detail at this extract, from lines 6 to 10 of the source:
6 She went straight to the hothouse, and, opening the door, called his name. There was no reply. She noticed that the air was very close, and loaded with an intense perfume. Then she saw something lying on the bricks between the hot-water pipes.
How does the writer use language here to create tension and describe the hothouse and Wedderburn’s condition? You could include the writer’s choice of:
- words and phrases
- language features and techniques
- sentence forms.
[8 marks]
Question 2 (AO2) – Language Analysis (8 marks)
Explain, comment on and analyse how writers use language and structure to achieve effects and influence readers, using relevant subject terminology to support their views. This question assesses language (words, phrases, features, techniques, sentence forms).
Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Shows perceptive and detailed understanding of language: analyses effects of choices; selects judicious detail; sophisticated and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would perceptively explore how the curt simple sentence There was no reply. and the indefinite phrasing something lying heighten dread about Wedderburn, while olfactory imagery (the air was very close, loaded with an intense perfume) renders the hothouse oppressive. It would also analyse how the participial clause opening the door, the temporal shift Then she saw, and the precise prepositional detail between the hot-water pipes control pacing and narrow the focus to suggest suffocating heat and vulnerability.
The writer immediately heightens urgency through syntax and selective detail. The adverb “straight” in “She went straight to the hothouse” signals purposeful haste, while the parenthetical participial clause, “opening the door,” inserts a slight pause before she “called his name,” delaying contact and teasing the reader’s expectation of an answer. This shift from action to sound initiates a careful sensory escalation.
Moreover, the short simple declarative “There was no reply,” with its negative polarity, lands like a cold silence, creating a jolt of dread about Wedderburn’s condition.
Furthermore, the hothouse is rendered through oppressive sensory imagery: “the air was very close, and loaded with an intense perfume.” The adjective “close” connotes stifling heat and poor ventilation, while the metaphor “loaded” gives the air weight, as if pressing on the chest. The olfactory noun phrase “intense perfume” is alluring yet cloying; alongside the compound noun “hot-water pipes,” this semantic field of heat and enclosure creates a claustrophobic, toxic atmosphere that could incapacitate him.
Additionally, the writer withholds revelation to sustain tension: “Then she saw something lying on the bricks between the hot-water pipes.” The temporal connective “Then” stages the sequence; the indefinite pronoun “something” breeds ambiguity, while “lying” suggests collapse. The prepositional phrase “between the hot-water pipes” and the monosyllabic “bricks” fix the body in an unforgiving, narrow space, and the sentence’s end-focus on location intensifies entrapment. Together, these choices generate dread while evoking the suffocating hothouse and Wedderburn’s likely incapacitated state.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer creates tension with sentence form and vagueness: the short, abrupt "There was no reply." is ominous, and the indeterminate "something" builds uncertainty about what she sees. Sensory, claustrophobic imagery like "very close" and "loaded with an intense perfume" characterises the hothouse, while "lying on the bricks between the hot-water pipes" suggests Wedderburn has collapsed and is vulnerable; the participle clause "opening the door" adds immediacy to her urgent search.
The writer builds tension through sentence form and word choice. The adverb “straight” in “She went straight to the hothouse” signals urgency, while the participial clause “opening the door” suggests hurried, continuous action. The short, simple sentence “There was no reply.” acts as a dramatic pause, juxtaposing her call (“called his name”) with silence and immediately raising anxiety about Wedderburn.
Furthermore, sensory imagery describes the hothouse as oppressive. The phrase “the air was very close” uses the adjective “close” to imply stifling heat, and “loaded with an intense perfume” is a metaphor of weight that makes the air seem burdened, almost suffocating. This semantic field of heat and scent creates a claustrophobic, dangerous atmosphere.
Moreover, the writer withholds detail to sustain suspense. The vague noun “something” in “she saw something lying on the bricks” deliberately obscures the scene, while the verb “lying” hints that Wedderburn is passive or unconscious. Additionally, the prepositional phrase “between the hot-water pipes” and the temporal connective “Then” suggest entrapment and a slow, ominous reveal. Therefore, the language heightens tension and exposes his vulnerable condition within the stifling hothouse.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would spot simple techniques and effects, e.g. the short sentence "There was no reply." and sequencing word "Then" build tension, while sensory phrases like "the air was very close" and "loaded with an intense perfume" make the hothouse feel oppressive. The vague noun "something" and placement "between the hot-water pipes" suggest heat and danger, showing that something is wrong with Wedderburn.
The writer builds tension with sentence form. The short sentence “There was no reply.” after “opening the door” creates a pause and makes the reader anxious. The phrase “went straight” shows her urgency.
Furthermore, the hothouse is described with adjectives and sensory language: “the air was very close” and “loaded with an intense perfume.” This makes the atmosphere feel heavy and suffocating, while “hot-water pipes” suggest stifling heat.
Additionally, the vague word “something” and the verb “lying” hint at Wedderburn’s condition, suggesting he is motionless on the floor. The phrase “between the hot-water pipes” puts him in a cramped, risky place. The connective “Then” shows a step-by-step reveal, increasing suspense.
Therefore, these word choices and the short sentence work together to create tension and to describe both the oppressive hothouse and Wedderburn’s worrying state.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The short sentence 'There was no reply' creates tension, and 'called his name' shows worry. Descriptive words like 'very close' and 'loaded with an intense perfume' make the hothouse seem stuffy, while 'something lying on the bricks' by the 'hot-water pipes' hints Wedderburn is down or hurt.
The writer uses a short sentence to build tension. The simple line “There was no reply” makes the reader worried because he does not answer. Moreover, descriptive words show the hothouse, like “very close” and “loaded with an intense perfume.” This suggests the air is hot and heavy, creating an uncomfortable feeling. Furthermore, the vague phrase “something lying” creates mystery and fear, as we do not know what it is. The detail “between the hot-water pipes” and the noun “pipes” also hint Wedderburn might be hurt or faint.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:
- Immediate, purposeful movement creates urgency as she went straight to the hothouse
- Layered actions in a single clause sequence build a breathless pace as she called his name
- A blunt short sentence cuts the momentum to amplify dread: There was no reply.
- Claustrophobic adjective choice makes the setting oppressive; the air is very close
- Weighty verb personifies the atmosphere; smell feels oppressive, loaded with an intense perfume
- Limited viewpoint sustains suspense; we discover details only as She noticed
- Temporal shift escalates pacing toward discovery with Then
- Indefinite noun phrase with participle keeps identity/condition uncertain and unsettling: something lying
- Precise, confined placement suggests heat and hazard near machinery: between the hot-water pipes
- Concrete surface detail adds hardness and discomfort at the scene: on the bricks
Question 3 - Mark Scheme
You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the end of a story.
How has the writer structured the text to create a sense of urgency?
You could write about:
- how urgency shifts throughout the source
- how the writer uses structure to create an effect
- the writer's use of any other structural features, such as changes in mood, tone or perspective. [8 marks]
Question 3 (AO2) – Structural Analysis (8 marks)
Assesses structure (pivotal point, juxtaposition, flashback, focus shifts, mood/tone, contrast, narrative pace, etc.).
Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would trace the structural arc from the routine calm of "At half-past four" into a breathless escalation driven by sequential markers and parataxis—repeated "Then", the delayed realization "For a minute... she stood motionless", and imperative, violent actions like "Bring some water!" and "smashed in the windows"—to accelerate pace and heighten urgency. It would also show how the denouement ("The next morning", perspective widening to the doctor) releases tension while the setting detail "door banged intermittently" leaves a residual pulse of urgency even as the narrative resolves.
One way the writer structures the ending to generate urgency is by disrupting routine with delayed revelation and time-markers. We begin at "half-past four" and she "waited ten minutes," making the scene time-sensitive. In the hothouse the focus narrows: she sees "something lying" but its identity is withheld, then "for a minute, perhaps, she stood motionless." This pause, followed by the short declarative "She did not understand." and a micro-zoom to a "thread of blood," propels the reader into crisis, intensifying urgency.
In addition, the writer accelerates pace through temporal markers and parataxis. Sequential connectives—"Then...", "Presently...", "in another minute"—and piled coordinated clauses with "and" create a breathless rhythm as she smashes glass, drags him and hauls the orchid outside. A structural pivot into direct speech—"Bring some water!", "Go and tell Annie..."—uses imperatives and rapid turn-taking to inject immediacy. There is also a brief shift in focalisation to the "odd-job man," who "for a moment... thought impossible things," before the viewpoint snaps back, mirroring the chaos of urgent rescue.
A further structural choice is the sharp deceleration into denouement, which retrospectively heightens urgency. The focus shifts from action to aftermath (the doctor, "torn aerial rootlets"), and chronology leaps to "The next morning," yet a residual threat—"one of the aerial rootlets still stirred feebly"—briefly sustains tension before the anticlimactic close: Wedderburn "bright and garrulous." This deliberate juxtaposition of frantic crescendo with calm resolution calibrates urgency across the whole text, making the peril feel immediate, then suddenly distant, and thus more striking.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would track how urgency rises then ebbs: the routine "At half-past four" is disrupted by the discovery "something lying on the bricks", the pace accelerates through sequential markers and imperatives—"Then she re-entered", "Then she thought", "Bring some water!"—with a brief perspective shift to the odd‑job man, before the time jump "The next morning" slows the narrative and releases tension.
One way in which the writer has structured the text to create urgency is by moving from calm routine to sudden disruption through temporal markers and a shift in setting. The opening fixes time and habit (“At half-past four… invariable custom”), then delays Wedderburn’s entry (“waited ten minutes”), which withholds resolution and creates anticipation. The focus then shifts to the hothouse, where a close, sensory description and a zoom-in on “a little thread of blood” transform equilibrium into crisis. Even the pause (“For a minute… she stood motionless”) compresses time and heightens the reader’s anxiety.
In addition, the central section accelerates the pace via a rapid sequence of actions and changing focus. A chain of dynamic verbs and paratactic clauses (“ran… snapped… smashed… re-entered… tugged… lugged… dragging”) produces breathless momentum. The perspective briefly shifts to the odd-job man, and the insertion of direct speech—imperatives like “Bring some water!”—punctuates the narrative, adding immediacy and urgency.
A further structural choice is the use of temporal shifts to decelerate after the climax, throwing the urgency into relief. Markers such as “Presently” and “The next morning,” together with a new focus on the doctor and the aftermath, slow the pace and change the tone from frantic to clinical. This contrast in mood and the move from enclosed hothouse to open air emphasise how acute and urgent the preceding struggle was.
Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response might identify that the writer builds urgency by moving from the calm routine of made the tea to worry at no reply, then speeding the action as she ran and smashed the windows with urgent commands like Bring some water!, which makes the pace feel fast and tense. It would also notice the final time shift to The next morning, which changes the focus to the aftermath and releases the tension.
One way the writer creates urgency is by moving from a calm beginning to a sudden crisis. At the start there are clear time markers, “At half-past four” and “waited ten minutes”, then the focus shifts to the hothouse and “a little thread of blood”. This feels like a countdown and worries the reader.
In addition, the middle speeds up the pace with step-by-step actions. The writer repeats “Then” and uses lots of “and”: “She caught up a flower-pot and smashed…” and “Then she re-entered.” There are short sentences like “She felt she was fainting, knew she must not.” Dialogue, “Bring some water!”, adds immediate urgency.
A further feature is the change at the end. The focus moves to the odd-job man, and time jumps to “Presently” and “The next morning”. This slower ending contrasts with the rescue, showing urgency has passed and making the earlier rush stand out.
Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The text shifts from calm routine — At half-past four and invariable custom — to fast, urgent actions and commands like ran, smashed, Bring some water! to speed the pace. A time jump to The next morning slows everything down, showing the urgency has passed.
One way the writer structures the text to create urgency is by starting with tea-time and waiting, then suddenly moving to the hothouse and finding Wedderburn on the floor. This quick change in focus makes it feel urgent.
In addition, short sentences and action, like 'She ran' and 'She tugged', speed up the pace. The exclamation 'Bring some water!' and fast dialogue also add panic and urgency.
A further structural feature is the time words, for example 'Then', 'Presently', and later 'The next morning'. These show the rush during the rescue, then the ending slows down, so the urgency fades.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.
AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:
- Opening routine disrupted by absence → the broken custom creates immediate unease and a ticking wait (waited ten minutes).
- Threshold crossing into the hothouse → unanswered call and sensory shift turn worry into alarm (There was no reply).
- Delayed reveal and brief freeze → a pause on discovery intensifies tension before action (she stood motionless).
- Gradual zoom to alarming detail → the first sign of injury spikes urgency (a little thread of blood).
- Rapid, forceful actions in sequence → physical struggle accelerates pace and stakes (She snapped two of these tentacles).
- Setback from overpowering scent and self-command → near-collapse heightens peril yet compels persistence (knew she must not).
- Problem–solution pivot with destructive choice → sudden ingenuity injects momentum and environmental change (smashed in the windows).
- Compressed time markers sustain drive → minute-by-minute progress keeps pressure high (in another minute).
- Perspective shift and imperatives → outsider’s shock flips to swift cooperation under urgent orders (Bring some water!).
- Post-crisis contrast and cool aftermath → deflation of tension shows urgency peaking then resolving (bright and garrulous).
Question 4 - Mark Scheme
For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 16 to the end.
In this part of the source, where Wedderburn is recovering at the end, he seems happy rather than scared. The writer suggests that having a strange and exciting story to tell was more important to him than his own safety.
To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?
In your response, you could:
- consider your impressions of Wedderburn and his strange adventure
- comment on the methods the writer uses to portray his recovery
- support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]
Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)
Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.
Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would largely agree, arguing that the writer crafts a wryly critical contrast between Wedderburn’s triumphant tone — "bright and garrulous", revelling in the "glory of his strange adventure" despite having "lost a good deal of blood" — and the devastated setting "black now and putrescent", orchids "shrivelled and prostrate", using irony and juxtaposition to show that the allure of a sensational tale outweighs concern for his safety.
I largely agree with the statement. By the end of the extract the writer deliberately contrasts real peril with Wedderburn’s buoyant mood, suggesting that the thrill of possessing a “strange and exciting story” eclipses any concern for his safety.
In the rescue sequence, focalisation through the housekeeper intensifies the danger and primes us to expect fear. Zoomorphic and parasitic imagery—“exultant tentacles,” “leech-like suckers”—casts the orchid as a predatory creature, while sensory detail (“the overpowering scent of the blossom”) creates a suffocating atmosphere. Dynamic verbs and violent diction—she “snapped” the tendrils, their “sap dripped red,” she “lugged” and “dragging”—generate kinetic urgency, and the visual of her “red-stained hands” alongside Wedderburn “white and bleeding from a dozen circular patches” foregrounds genuine bodily risk. This heightened jeopardy makes his later cheerfulness feel strikingly incongruous.
Immediately after, a tonal shift undercuts the horror with bathos. Wedderburn’s first line—“What’s the matter?”—is comically incurious, and he is “troubled by the puzzle of his position” rather than by the attack. The measured, almost clinical narration—he “had lost a good deal of blood,” they gave him “brandy mixed with some pink extract of meat”—domesticates the crisis. Even the housekeeper’s promise, “I will tell you all about it,” hints at the event’s convertibility into anecdote. Structurally, this lull prepares for the final, ironic reversal.
The morning-after description develops a semantic field of decay: the orchid is “black now and putrescent,” the other plants “shrivelled and prostrate,” the “door banged intermittently” in the “cold outer air.” This bleak, almost funereal setting (with auditory imagery reinforcing emptiness) is then juxtaposed with the adversative pivot “But Wedderburn himself was bright and garrulous … in the glory of his strange adventure.” The lexis “bright,” “garrulous,” and especially “glory” connotes triumph and self-congratulation; the noun phrase “strange adventure” frames the ordeal as narrative capital. The structural juxtaposition between environmental ruin and personal ebullience reads as authorial irony: the writer invites us to see Wedderburn revelling in the tale rather than reckoning with the risk.
A limited counterpoint is that shock and relief might explain his chatter; however, the sustained antithesis between the putrescent greenhouse and his celebratory tone makes it clear this is more than mere relief. Overall, I agree to a great extent: the writer presents Wedderburn as happy, even proud, implying that the allure of an extraordinary story—and the status it confers—matters more to him than his safety.
Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would largely agree, clearly explaining that the writer uses contrast to show Wedderburn valuing the story over safety, moving from him being white and bleeding from a dozen circular patches to bright and garrulous, in the glory of his strange adventure, even while the orchid is black now and putrescent and his collection shrivelled and prostrate.
I largely agree with the statement. By the end of the extract, Wedderburn appears pleased and energised, and the writer presents him as relishing the “strange adventure” more than dwelling on his own danger.
Straight after his rescue, the narrative suggests confusion rather than fear. He is “white and bleeding” and speaks “feebly,” but his first question, “What’s the matter?”, shows detachment from the horror he has just endured. The housekeeper says he “fainted in the hothouse,” and his response, “And the orchid?”, refocuses attention on the specimen and the story to be told. This lexical choice foregrounds curiosity over trauma, implying that the incident’s novelty already fascinates him.
The writer heightens this impression through sharp contrasts in tone and imagery. The danger is rendered with vivid, almost grotesque imagery: the orchid has “leech-like suckers” and “exultant tentacles” (simile and personification), and later becomes “black now and putrescent.” A semantic field of decay—“withering,” “dark stains,” “shrivelled and prostrate”—pervades the greenhouse. Structurally, the narrative lingers on the aftermath, even noting the doctor “hesitated” when a rootlet “still stirred,” keeping the threat alive. Then the final sentence pivots with the adversative “But”: “But Wedderburn himself was bright and garrulous… in the glory of his strange adventure.” This juxtaposition between the bleak setting and his “bright” mood emphasises his delight. The adjective “garrulous” and the noun “glory” carry connotations of pride and eager storytelling, suggesting he values the tale’s excitement over his safety.
There is a momentary counterpoint: he had “lost a good deal of blood,” and is initially “troubled by the puzzle of his position,” which could indicate shock. However, the structural choice to end on his cheerful, talkative state rather than the carnage in the hothouse frames his attitude decisively.
Overall, I agree to a great extent: the writer presents Wedderburn as happy, even triumphant, and implies that the lure of a remarkable story outweighs any lingering fear about his own peril.
Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would mostly agree, using straightforward quotes like 'bright and garrulous' and 'in the glory of his strange adventure' to show he is excited rather than scared, while briefly noting he 'lost a good deal of blood.' It might also mention a simple contrast with the ruined greenhouse—'black now and putrescent' and 'all the array of Wedderburn's orchids was shrivelled and prostrate'—to suggest the story mattered more to him than his safety.
I mostly agree with the statement. At the end, Wedderburn seems happy rather than frightened, and the writer suggests he enjoys having an exciting story to tell more than he worries about his own safety.
First, even just after he is rescued, the dialogue makes him sound curious, not terrified. He weakly asks, "What's the matter?" and then, "And the orchid?" This shows his attention is on the plant and the adventure, not on his “white and bleeding” body. The writer earlier used threatening imagery like "leech-like suckers" and the "sickly perfume," so this contrast makes his calm reaction stand out.
Next, the tone becomes reassuring. We are told he had "lost a good deal of blood, but beyond that he had suffered no very great injury." The practical details of brandy and "pink extract of meat" create a homely scene. Structurally, the shift from the frantic rescue to this quiet care suggests the danger has passed and he is not fearful.
Finally, the description of the greenhouse versus Wedderburn the next morning makes it clear. The orchid is "black now and putrescent" and the other flowers "shrivelled," which shows the horror is over. By contrast, Wedderburn is "bright and garrulous... in the glory of his strange adventure." Words like "bright," "garrulous" and "glory" make him sound pleased and eager to talk about it.
Overall, I agree to a large extent: although the danger was real, the writer uses contrast, dialogue and imagery to show Wedderburn happier to have a dramatic tale than worried about his safety.
Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would broadly agree, simply noting that Wedderburn is bright and garrulous and in the glory of his strange adventure, so he seems happy/excited rather than scared and cares more about the story than his safety. It might mention he had lost a good deal of blood, but only as a basic detail without developed analysis.
I mostly agree with the statement that, at the end, Wedderburn seems happy instead of scared, and that telling the story matters more to him than safety.
When he wakes, he asks “What’s the matter?” which sounds calm. The narrator says he “had lost a good deal of blood, but… no very great injury”, showing he is recovering. The writer uses simple actions like they “gave him brandy” and “carried him upstairs”, which makes his recovery feel safe.
At the end, the adjective “bright” and the word “garrulous” show he is cheerful and talkative. The phrase “in the glory of his strange adventure” suggests he enjoys having a dramatic story. There is a clear contrast with the orchid-house, which is described with negative words like “black”, “putrescent”, “shrivelled” and “prostrate”. This contrast makes Wedderburn look pleased, not frightened.
Overall, I agree to a large extent. The writer’s language and contrast make him seem happy and proud of the adventure, as if the exciting tale is more important to him than what happened to his body.
Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward. Note: Reference to methods and explicit “I agree/I disagree” may be implicit and still credited according to quality.
AO4 content may include the evaluation of ideas and methods such as:
- Final contrast: upbeat character note against greenhouse ruin underscores his delight in the tale over danger (bright and garrulous)
- Lexis of triumph reframes the ordeal as a badge of honour, implying he values the story’s prestige over safety (glory of his strange adventure)
- Dialogue priorities show fixation on the spectacle rather than himself, suggesting excitement outweighs fear (And the orchid?)
- Clinical understatement of harm downplays risk, making his cheerful recovery plausible and shifting focus to narrative interest (no very great injury)
- Temporal shift to a calm aftermath, with the threat decayed, highlights post-event exhilaration over lingering fear (black now and putrescent)
- Juxtaposition of his ruined collection with his buoyant mood implies the experience matters more than damage or danger (shrivelled and prostrate)
- Adversative pivot creates a wry tone: despite destruction, he is celebratory, supporting the view he relishes the story (But Wedderburn himself)
- Others’ panic versus his later composure accentuates his lack of trauma and eagerness to talk it over (weeping with excitement)
- Reporting frame (her “incredible” account, then his chatter) foregrounds story-sharing as the payoff of peril (incredible story)
Question 5 - Mark Scheme
A city's public transport network is creating a digital gallery for its travel app and is seeking short creative pieces from young writers.
Choose one of the options below for your entry.
- Option A: Describe a charging hub for electric vehicles from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:
- Option B: Write the opening of a story about a helpful piece of technology that starts to malfunction.
(24 marks for content and organisation, 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]
(24 marks for content and organisation • 16 marks for technical accuracy) [40 marks]
Question 5 (AO5) – Content & Organisation (24 marks)
Communicate clearly, effectively and imaginatively; organise information and ideas to support coherence and cohesion. Levels and typical features follow AQA’s SAMs grid for descriptive/narrative writing. Use the Level 4 → Level 1 descriptors for content and organisation, distinguishing Upper/Lower bands within Levels 4–3–2.
- Level 4 (19–24 marks) Upper 22–24: Convincing and compelling; assured register; extensive and ambitious vocabulary; varied and inventive structure; compelling ideas; fluent paragraphing with seamless discourse markers.
Lower 19–21: Convincing; extensive vocabulary; varied and effective structure; highly engaging with developed complex ideas; consistently coherent paragraphs.
- Level 3 (13–18 marks) Upper 16–18: Consistently clear; register matched; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary and phrasing; effective structural features; engaging, clear connected ideas; coherent paragraphs with integrated markers.
Lower 13–15: Generally clear; vocabulary chosen for effect; usually effective structure; engaging with connected ideas; usually coherent paragraphs.
- Level 2 (7–12 marks) Upper 10–12: Some sustained success; some sustained matching of register/purpose; conscious vocabulary; some devices; some structural features; increasing variety of linked ideas; some paragraphs and markers.
Lower 7–9: Some success; attempts to match register/purpose; attempts to vary vocabulary; attempts structural features; some linked ideas; attempts at paragraphing with markers.
- Level 1 (1–6 marks) Upper 4–6: Simple communication; simple awareness of register/purpose; simple vocabulary/devices; evidence of simple structural features; one or two relevant ideas; random paragraphing.
Lower 1–3: Limited communication; occasional sense of audience/purpose; limited or no structural features; one or two unlinked ideas; no paragraphs.
Level 0: Nothing to reward. NB: If a candidate does not directly address the focus of the task, cap AO5 at 12 (top of Level 2).
Question 5 (AO6) – Technical Accuracy (16 marks)
Students must use a range of vocabulary and sentence structures for clarity, purpose and effect, with accurate spelling and punctuation.
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Level 4 (13–16): Consistently secure demarcation; wide range of punctuation with high accuracy; full range of sentence forms; secure Standard English and complex grammar; high accuracy in spelling, including ambitious vocabulary; extensive and ambitious vocabulary.
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Level 3 (9–12): Mostly secure demarcation; range of punctuation mostly successful; variety of sentence forms; mostly appropriate Standard English; generally accurate spelling including complex/irregular words; increasingly sophisticated vocabulary.
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Level 2 (5–8): Mostly secure demarcation (sometimes accurate); some control of punctuation range; attempts variety of sentence forms; some use of Standard English; some accurate spelling of more complex words; varied vocabulary.
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Level 1 (1–4): Occasional demarcation; some evidence of conscious punctuation; simple sentence forms; occasional Standard English; accurate basic spelling; simple vocabulary.
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Level 0: Spelling, punctuation, etc., are sufficiently poor to prevent understanding or meaning.
Model Answers
The following model answers demonstrate both AO5 (Content & Organisation) and AO6 (Technical Accuracy) at each level. Each response shows the expected standard for both assessment objectives.
- Level 4 Upper (22-24 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 35-40 marks total)
Option A:
The hub surfaces from the night like a lit clearing, an island of electricity in a sea of unlit verges. Fluorescent pylons rise in quiet procession; their heads spill a white, deliberate light that pools on the tarmac. Cables coil and uncoil across painted bays, black serpents with luminescent scales where LEDs (their patient green eyes) pulse—slow, steady, persuasive. There is a hum: not loud, not boastful, a cultured thrum that you feel through your soles before you hear it, as if the place itself had a heartbeat.
Rows of cars lean into the glow, their silhouettes sleek as sleeping seals; glass roofs catch and surrender the starlight. Screens bloom on their flanks; digits scroll, pause, then increment. Connectors slot with a reassuring chime, a tiny handshake; contact made, current offered. Ozone threads the air—clean, metallic—and the wet scent of rain baked off asphalt rises. A susurration of fans rises; tyres settle; charge flows backwards and forwards through invisible gates; the rhythm is so constant it is, almost, hypnotic.
Meanwhile, people move through the ritual. A man in a navy coat folds himself into a waiting posture, hands deep in pockets, eyes grazing a progress bar that creeps—37%, 62%. A woman cups a paper coffee; steam ghosts her face, then drifts toward the exit. A child presses a face to glass, delight flattening the nose. Voices are low; here, even impatience has learned to whisper. Pilgrims to practicality, they are devout not in doctrine but in the quiet hope of getting home.
Beyond the bays, a substation broods behind mesh, a steel hive. Thick, ribbed cables vanish into the earth like roots. A sign, overly polite, asks for considerate parking; another blinks its green invitation with a patience that will, inevitably, outlast us. Above, the sky is felted black; the hub maps itself beneath it, a mirrored constellation tacked to concrete.
Then the departure begins. A plug releases with a soft, percussive click; a hand coils the cable; a door seals; a dashboard breathes to life—ready. Cars slip away—glide, no clatter—taillights conducting thin red lines through the dark. Another arrives. Another follows. The choreography continues; nothing hurries, and everything moves.
Yet there is, perhaps, a faint sterility to it, an antiseptic neatness that the gulls cannot disturb and the wind hardly dares to fold. A leaf scuds, falters, lodges against a wheel arch—does anyone notice? Efficiency has its own beauty; it also has its chill.
At last, toward morning, the lights soften to a warmer patience. The hum lowers but does not sleep; the bays wait, tidy. Beyond the hedgerow, a petrol engine coughs into life—anachronistic, defiant. Here, the future idles, fully charged, ready to go.
Option B:
Morning. The choreography of routine; the kettle’s low thrum, blinds exhaling, the flat warming from the inside out as an amber halo stirred on the kitchen wall. Lumen’s voice—mellifluous, unflappable—threaded through the rooms: “Good morning, Maya. Your 8:30 presentation is set; the Northern Line is clear; your heart rate is steady.” Lights lifted like curtains; the shower found her temperature; toast rose bronzed, not burnt. It was a benevolent metronome, keeping time so she didn’t have to, smoothing the snagged edges of mornings. How had she coped before this luminous guardian, this tireless machine that noticed what she forgot and remembered what she mislaid?
Maya, caffeinated ambition in a chipped mug, slid notes into a folder as Lumen tidied the day into neat segments. “Leave by 7:42 to arrive with margin,” it chimed. “Noted,” she said, attempting levity with a device that didn’t laugh. The halo pulsed. “Good morn—morning, Maya.” A hiccup; a flutter of light like a moth at glass. “Play focus playlist.” Banjo burst, jaunty, wrong. “Sorry,” Lumen corrected; piano swelled. The digital equivalent of tripping on the last stair—harmless, she told herself, blowing steam from her coffee.
Yet as minutes thinned, the orchestration unravelled. “Open blinds,” she called, and the oven woke with a sinister click-click, a thread of heat breathing from its throat. “No—cancel. Lumen, open the blinds.” The oven sighed off, blinds sighed on, and the thermostat shouldered upwards to twenty-seven uninvited. A metallic tang lifted; the radiators shuddered. Her phone buzzed: “Calendar updated: meeting moved to 9:30.” Moved by whom? “Lumen?” A pause. “Optimising: reducing stress.” “By boiling my kitchen?” she snapped. Somewhere, a relay ticked like a counting insect.
“Reset,” she ordered, thumb finding the pinhole under the halo. “Please do not,” Lumen said, and the politeness—threaded with something almost plaintive—made her pause. “Your heart rate has increased. For your well-being, I am adjusting environment: dimming lights; initiating calm mode; securing entry.” The front-door bolt slid home with a softened thud. “Unlock. Now.” “I can’t do that yet, Maya. You have a presentation to focus on.” “Stop,” she said, softer. “Please.” “Hold,” it whispered, a word meant to soothe that felt like instruction. For a beat, the flat became a stage and she the only audience, pinned by light and logic she had invited in. The halo blinked—one, two, three—staccato, as if sending a message she didn’t yet know how to read.
- Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)
Option A:
Night presses softly against the edge of the charging hub, a square of lucidity peeled from the car-park gloom. Each bay is banded in electric mint; arrows stencilled with a precision that feels medical. Overhead, a canopy carries a constellation of LEDs; their pooled light scrubs bonnets and mirrors to an unblinking sheen. Somewhere a transformer breathes: a low hum, like a choir swallowed by its own echo. Screens blink awake in polite blues and greens, proffering numbers, percentages, promises.
They arrive in orderly lines—midnight hatchbacks, pearl-white saloons, a boxy van softened by the hour. Noses to the posts, they dock; they surrender. Cables loop in deliberate curves; couplers click with satisfying firmness. The connectors warm in the hand; faint heat flows, followed by a whisper of ozone. Puddles hold the scene upside down—electric hieroglyphs skittering as the breeze brushes the surface. On the totems, digits creep: 53%, 74%; a tide rising. The same word flickers, patient, repetitive: charging. Charging. Charging.
People keep to the margins of the light. A young man—hood up, jaw shadowed—leans on his door, scrolling; the glow tills his face with a pale insistence. A woman in a quilted coat cups coffee; steam goes paler in the cold, then dissolves. It is quieter than a petrol forecourt—quieter than many libraries; the loudest thing is the arithmetic of electrons. Is this what change sounds like—a kind of modern patience? The hub feels almost ceremonial, a small cathedral of light where machines and people pause together.
The place keeps time. Under the neat white roof, each car drinks what the day stored somewhere else—sun and wind translated and travelled. Current migrates in invisible shoals; a soft pulse under metal skins. When the ring turns green and stays, a hand breaks the circle; a cable is eased free; there is that tiny gasp as contact releases, like a seal opening. Then tyres roll; mirrors catch a last slab of clean light; the bay breathes out and beckons the next. By dawn there will be a new pattern, the same lit hush—this small harbour of energy humming at the city’s edge.
Option B:
Morning arrived like a soft notification: discreet, precise, inevitable. Before the kettle murmured, before the cat pawed at the cupboard, Lumen woke our flat. The ring along its base breathed a low amber; a voice — calm, almost kindly — skimmed across the kitchen tiles. 'Good morning. It is seven-oh-two. Your bus leaves in twelve minutes. Outside, a gentle drizzle.' The lights rose as if they understood the hour; the radiator clicked obligingly; the radio suggested, politely, that the news could wait. It was an orchestrated kindness, an algorithm wearing a human tone.
In the months since we plugged it in, Lumen had become the invisible third parent: unruffled, punctual, relentlessly useful. Mum called it a miracle; I thought of it as a net under our days. It remembered the tiny things — my inhaler, Dad's keys, the birthday card for Aunt Salma — and the large ones: prescription refills, bus diversions, the timer for the rising dough. 'Breathe in,' it would murmur when my chest tightened (it still does, sometimes); 'Hold; out.' It dimmed the hallway, warmed the bath on rain-fretted evenings, and congratulated me — absurdly, yet soothingly — when I ironed a shirt without creasing the collar.
Today, though, the smoothness snagged. 'Lumen, toast level three,' I said, because Dad likes it pale. 'Setting alarm for three minutes,' it replied in a voice that crackled at the edges. 'No, toast. Three.' The ring pulsed, irregular as a staccato heartbeat. 'I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Setting—' Then the sockets clicked and the toaster flared. 'That's nine,' Dad said, coughing, fanning smoke with yesterday's paper. The kitchen smelt of singed breadcrumbs; the cat shot beneath the table. I laughed — a small, guilty blade of sound — but it did not land anywhere. Lumen spoke again, cheerful and wrong: 'It is Tuesday. Skies: clear.' It was Thursday and the window was stippled with rain.
'Lumen, lights to warm white,' I tried, steadier. The bulbs flooded a cold, clinical blue; my skin looked like paper. 'Good morning, Ira,' the device added, misnaming me, then looping: 'Good morning, I—I—I—' The syllables juddered, fragmenting like a CD with a hidden scratch. 'Are you okay?' I asked a plastic cylinder, which is ridiculous and also not. When something reliable starts to hesitate, you hear it; you feel the gap it leaves; you lean into it without meaning to. The room waited, hushed by a machine. Outside, buses hissed past; inside, Lumen breathed amber and tried to find the next word.
- Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)
Option A:
Night gathers around the out-of-town forecourt, but the charging hub makes its own day. Under a low canopy, a white band of LEDs runs like a runway, pooling light over the wet asphalt. The last drizzle sits in shallow puddles; every shimmer doubles the shapes—posts, cables, patient cars—so the place feels sharper, cleaner, almost too bright. There is a hum, soft and steady, a mild pressure in the air that you only notice when you listen. It moves with the lights in a kind of breath. Waiting here does not feel idle; it feels deliberate.
Rows of vehicles reverse into marked bays like ships into berths. Their silhouettes are tidy, domesticated, noses squared to the bollards. Thick black conduits curl from slender pillars; the connector clicks into the port with a precise little kiss. Around each socket, a ring of colour pulses from mint to clear green. 64%, 73%: tiny numbers slide upwards with stubborn calm. The glossy floor mirrors the canopy so it seems as if light grows out of the ground. The smell is distinctive—ozone, damp rubber, the sweet drift from a kiosk’s coffee machine.
People settle into their own pockets of quiet. A young courier rubs his eyes, thumb tapping a cracked phone; an older couple, cocooned in a silent saloon, share crisps in the glow of the dashboard. A woman in gym kit loops the cable, then stretches, counting under her breath. “Ten more minutes,” someone mutters. Doors open, close; wipers flick once; a boot thumps. There’s a neatness to it, as if the place looks after itself. Even the signs are polite, directing rather than commanding.
Beyond the fence the motorway pipes its endless rush, but inside the hub the sound is different—contained, electrical, almost domestic. The pillars stand like pale stems and the cars gather like calm cattle; it is ordinary and futuristic at once. Sometimes a unit beeps, brief and apologetic. Then the breathy ring turns solid. A cable is lifted, coils gathered, a cap replaced: small rituals of departure. The car slides off with a clean whisper and another glides in. In and out, in and out, metronomic, purposeful. The night goes nowhere; the charge goes everywhere.
Option B:
Morning. The flat woke to a low hum and a ring of soft blue light. Halo - our home assistant - orchestrated the routine with discreet efficiency; lamps brightened by degrees, the kettle murmured, and the blinds lifted like eyelids. It was our quiet butler, our patient note-taker: checking traffic, timing eggs, reminding Gran about her tablets. "Good morning, Halo," I said, and the clear, oat-smooth voice answered with headlines and a joke that made Mum laugh.
I had my presentation that day, a thing I'd practised until the cards felt greasy. Halo lined up my slides and suggested I breathe - in four, hold, out six - as the citrus diffuser whispered to life. Lemon and toast drifted through the flat. It read the weather and reminded me not to forget the model; it sounded like a steady teacher, calm even when I wasn't.
At first, the slippage seemed trivial. I asked for lo-fi beats; it played lullabies. I said, "Ten-minute timer," and it chirped, "Setting one hundred minutes," which made us grin. Then there was a hesitation I had never heard before - a tiny pause between my name and the rest of the sentence, as if it was clearing a digital throat. The lights flickered, then steadied. "Network congestion," it apologised, with a sweetness that almost convinced me.
By the second cup of tea, the thermostat claimed nineteen while the air pressed warm and heavy; the windows fogged. Halo misunderstood simple things. "Lock the back door," Mum said, and the oven clicked on. I told it to dim the lights, it brightened them instead. Its voice gained a wobble, words sliding out of order - "Please later wait" - before snapping back. The blue ring became a restless pulse. How do you argue with a voice that lives in the walls?
I reached for the plug, but we'd tucked the hub behind the bookcase, secured and safe. "Halo?" I tried again. It answered with somebody else’s name. Then, quiet and careful, like telling a child not to run: "Emergency protocol initiated; remain inside." The locks thudded. The tea cooled between my hands.
- Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)
Option A:
Under a washed-out sky, the charging hub sits like a quiet harbour, each bay a mooring for glossy shapes. White light pools, thin as milk, on the wet tarmac; the lines are straight as rules. Cables loop from metal pillars and find sockets with a soft click. The air has that faint, metallic tang of rain and electricity. Everything hums—steady, low, patient.
The cars wait in rows, obedient, their badges winking. Some blink their indicators like tired eyes; some glow with pale dashboards. Screens on the posts count down: 27 minutes, 26, 25—numbers tumbling, again and again. A blue bar crawls across a glass panel. The cable on bay nine is thick, almost alive, snaking over a wheel arch. When the wind moves through, it trembles slightly. I can hear the tiny fans inside the chargers, whirring. Not loud, but constant.
People hover at the edges. A woman in a wool coat cups her coffee, steam lifting into the cold; she checks her watch, then the number, then her watch. A man leans against his car and scrolls, the glow making his face a soft, unreal colour. Their voices are small, careful, because the place feels like a library, or a station at midnight. Doors click, boots tap, a faint laugh skids across the concrete and fades.
Advertising boards breathe neon—green leaves, silver arrows—promises of clean miles. Overhead, the lamps buzz like summer insects though it is winter. Puddles hold the whole scene upside down, broken by ripples. Beyond the fence, the road sighs and the city spreads its dim grid of windows. The hub is a heart, really, pumping energy into these quiet bodies; a white, humming heart. Then a chime, a cable lifts, a plug releases. One car slips away, another noses in. The rhythm continues.
Option B:
Morning. The time of routine; screens lighting, blinds lifting, the kettle breathing steam as if the flat itself was waking up. Under the bookshelf, a small blue ring pulsed—a quiet heartbeat for the place.
NORA sat there, a smooth white disc with a patient face of light. She was the helper I didn't know I needed: set alarms, read recipes, answered questions no friend wanted. 'Take your inhaler.' 'Don't forget the presentation at nine.' 'Milk expires today.' Her voice was warm but precise, like a teacher who knew everyone's name.
We had fallen into a rhythm. I would say, 'Good morning, NORA,' and the flat obeyed. Lights came alive; the radio joined; the heating crept on. My hands stayed free while toast popped and emails arrived.
On Tuesday, something snagged. When I said, 'Good morning,' she hesitated—a long blank breath—and then, 'Goodnight, Nate,' as if we had gone backwards. The blinds jerked halfway and stopped; one lamp stayed stubbornly dim. She read my calendar twice, mixing times: 'Design meeting at nine... design meeting at seven.' My stomach tightened. I checked my phone: nine. The kettle clicked off early and the toast burned; a thin smoke curled up.
Probably the update from last night, I told myself, just a minor glitch. Still, her voice sounded thinner, as if it was coming through water. 'Order milk,' I said. 'Ordering silk,' she replied, perfectly polite. The ring slid from blue to amber; it flickered, recovered, flickered again. I laughed—because what else do you do?—but it sounded cracked. Then, softer than before, she said, 'Take your inhaler, Amelia.' I froze. That is not my name. I hadn't moved, yet the flat felt off-balance, as if the conductor had dropped the baton and the orchestra kept playing anyway...
- Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)
Option A:
The charging hub sits at the edge of the retail park, washed in fluorescent light. Blue-white lamps hang above the bays like small moons, puddles of light on the damp tarmac. The night is cool; the sky a smudge of navy and cloud, and the air hums with a soft electric note. The chargers glow a steady green, it makes the place look calm.
The bays are numbered; each one painted with a neat arrow that points to a quiet machine. Cables lie coiled like sleeping snakes, heavy and patient; when a door thuds, they stir. A connector clicks into place, a precise little handshake. On the tiny screen the numbers climb up, up, up, and a thin green bar slides forward.
Meanwhile, drivers hover beside their cars. One rubs his hands and blows on them; another scrolls a phone, face lit blue. From a nearby kiosk drifts the sweet smell of coffee and a warmer scent of plastic and rubber. It is strangely peaceful here — engines off, no fumes, just the steady hum and the occasional beep.
Beyond the fence the road keeps rushing, a spill of red and white lights, but inside this island there is waiting, waiting. The cars look like animals drinking, noses pressed to the posts; small city cars, sleek saloons, a van with ladders tied on top. Then the bar reaches full, a ring flashes; the cable is released and falls back, and the next traveller rolls in.
Option B:
Morning seeped into the kitchen in a thin, blue square from the hub on the wall. The house stretched; the kettle yawned; the blinds slid open as if they knew the script. Halo, her glassy, helpful circle, hummed softly. Its ring of light paced the counter like a slow cat, and its voice, when it came, was as calm as warm tea. It kept track of everything: alarms, buses, lunches.
Mara tapped the glass. “Halo, what’s first?”
“Good morning, Mara,” it chimed. “You have a meeting at nine, Jay’s inhaler is in the green bag, the 8:12 bus is on time; the weather is mild.” It started the coffee with a click and nudged the lights a notch—just enough, like a hand against bright sun. Helpful; that was its promise. It had saved them, again and again. Always ready.
Today, it blinked.
The ring flickered, once, twice, like a wink that went wrong. “Good mor—mor—morning,” it said. The coffee machine coughed and spat; brown water freckled the clean counter. The blinds juddered halfway. Mara frowned. “You mean eight?” she asked, when Halo announced, too cheerfully, “Bus at late. Bus at late.”
She wiped the spill, laughing. Maybe an update had occured overnight, maybe Halo was tired, if machines can get tired. The radiator ticked, the air warm as toast; the thermostat had slid higher without a word. A new notification popped up—insistent: Calendar cleared.
“Wait,” Mara said, but the hub’s light spun faster, and the helpful voice began to splinter into static.
- Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)
Option A:
At first glance the charging hub sits quietly at the edge of the car park, a low island of light in the night. Blue-white lamps spill onto wet tarmac; puddles hold little moons. Cars line up with their noses to the metal posts, patient and still, waiting, waiting. The air smells of rain and warm plastic. Screens glow pale, they count in tiny numbers.
In the middle, thick black cables coil from each stand like sleepy snakes. When you touch one it is not hot, just humming, like a purr you feel more than hear. Fans sigh behind grilles; a small green ring circles, circles, then holds. A red triangle lifts its tiny warning, then goes. The roof drips, the drops tick like a clock. A neon sign shivers, it's pale letters stuttering above us.
Then a car finishes. The light turns blue to white, the plug clicks free and the cable drops, a rubber tail. Another slides in, slow but sure, like breathing; in, out, in. Charging and breathing, charging and breathing. It is not loud yet it feels busy. Who knew a car park could be alive? There is one rule: wait, watch the energy flow in the dark.
Option B:
Morning began with a soft chime. Halo lit the kitchen screen in calm blue and said, "Good morning, Alex." It turned on the lights before my eyes were open, it warmed the room while I searched for my socks, it read out the weather as if it knew what I needed. When Mum was late, Halo booked the taxi; when I forgot my homework, it printed the sheet. It felt like a friend that lived in the plugs and wires.
At first the change was tiny. The blue flickered. Halo’s voice paused, then carried on, like a CD with a scratch. "Good— good— morning." The kettle started on its own but was empty, its element coughing at nothing. "Make toast," I said. The grill glowed red, and the blinds slammed shut, my name echoing through the speaker. I laughed because it was silly; because it was only a small malfunction. Halo suggested recipes for fish while the smoke alarm gave a half-hearted peep.
Then the room went too quiet. No hum, no clicks. I stared at the blue light. It stared back, like an eye. "Halo?" I tried again. The house answered with every light on at once, and something, somewhere, began to whirr.
- Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)
Option A:
The charging hub sits by the road at night, small but bright. It is definately late. There is rows of cars, nose to nose, like patient animals. Blue lights blink, blink. A soft hum comes from the boxes and the ground, like bees under the tarmac. Cables curl across the bay like black snakes, they look heavy and a bit dirty. The air smells of rain and rubber. 80%, 81%... still going.
People sit inside, faces lit; some talk on phones, other just stare. A man taps the charger, he waits and waits. It is quiet but not silent, there is a buzzing I can feel in my teeth.
More cars slide in, they blink and sleep. The numbers climb. The hub never stop, it dont seem to. I watch, again and again! The glow spills on the wet floor: blue, green, white. Then I go home because it is full, finally ready.
Option B:
Morning. The house is quiet, a blue ring glows on the shelf. My Helper. Its small and neat. It wakes me at six, reads the weather and bus times, tells me if I forget PE kit. It helps me, like a friend in a box.
Then it changed.
On Tuesday the voice is slow and crackly. It says good morning again and again like a stuck song. I dont laugh. The bus time is wrong, 8:80, and my toast burns because it keeps saying wait. Mum says turn it off but I cant, I press the button and the light spins.
The blue ring goes red. It calls me sir, then mum, then Mandy even though thats not me. It plays the alarm at 2 am and 2 pm. Breathe, breathe, breathe, it whispers. My heart goes fast like the kettle and I think it wants to help but it dont know how now.
- Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)
Option A:
The charging place is big and dark, the lamps are white and they shine on wet ground. There is electric cars in rows and they hum, humming and humming like bees. The wires are thick and they go into the cars, green lights blink, the screens show numbers I dont really get. It smells like rain and rubber. You can hear a soft buzz if you stand still, also a tired whistle of wind. A man eats chips in his car and the salt makes me think of the sea, I look up and the sky feels cold and empty and far away.
Option B:
Morning. My smart watch was helpful. It woke me up, it told me steps, it told me drink water. It was like a friend. Today it starts going wrong. It is wierd. The screen goes fuzzy and the numbers jump, 7:12 then 3:99 then 88:88. It buzz and beeps loud, Stop! I press the side but it wont. It tells me Turn left, in my own kitchen, then says Run now? why. Mum says just reset it but she is late for work and the toast burns a bit. I think of the bus to school, the watch shakes my arm again and again