AQA GCSE English Language 8700/1 - Explorations in creative ...

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.

1. Refer constantly to the mark scheme and standardising scripts throughout the marking period.
2. Always credit accurate, relevant and appropriate responses that are not necessarily covered by the mark scheme or the standardising scripts.
3. Use the full range of marks. Do not hesitate to give full marks if the response merits it.
4. Remember the key to accurate and fair marking is consistency.
5. 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).

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 Which adjective describes the nose?: flattened – 1 mark
• 1.2 What do Davidson's observations and questions suggest about Davidson's attitude towards Mrs Schomberg speaking?: Davidson is curious and excited by the unexpectedness, wondering if Mrs Schomberg will speak again. – 1 mark
• 1.3 After noticing the woman's flattened nose, hollow cheek and an eye described in several ways, what does Davidson ask himself?: Whether the woman had just spoken and whether she would speak again – 1 mark
• 1.4 Why does Davidson find the idea that the woman had spoken surprising at this moment?: The woman's profile appears rigid and unblinking, so speech seems unlikely. – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 1 to 15 of the source:

1 Davidson viewed her profile with a flattened nose, a hollow cheek, and one staring, unwinking, goggle eye. He asked himself: Did that speak just now? Will it speak again? It was as exciting, for the mere wonder of it, as trying

6 to converse with a mechanism. A smile played about the fat features of Davidson; the smile of a man making an amusing experiment. He spoke again to her:

11 “But the other members of that orchestra were real Italians, were they not?” Of course, he didn't care. He wanted to see whether the mechanism would

How does the writer use language here to present Davidson’s attitude and behaviour towards Mrs Schomberg? 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: Through dehumanising imagery and clinical metaphor, the writer shows Davidson treating Mrs Schomberg as an object: the grotesque catalogue “flattened nose, a hollow cheek, and one staring, unwinking, goggle eye” and the simile “as trying to converse with a mechanism” (echoed by the repeated “mechanism”) reduce her to a specimen, while the personified “smile played about the fat features” and phrase “an amusing experiment” reveal detached, mocking curiosity. The sharp rhetorical questions “Did that speak just now? Will it speak again?”, the baiting query about “real Italians”, and the blunt simple sentence “Of course, he didn’t care.” expose manipulative behaviour driven by curiosity rather than empathy.

The writer dehumanises Mrs Schomberg through grotesque, fragmenting imagery to expose Davidson’s superior detachment. The tricolon ‘flattened nose, a hollow cheek, and one staring, unwinking, goggle eye’ reduces her to defective parts; the harsh, concrete lexis suggests a specimen’s profile rather than a person. His inner interrogatives, ‘Did that speak just now? Will it speak again?’, use the demonstrative ‘that’ to strip identity, while their clipped rhythm feels like a test. The simile ‘as trying to converse with a mechanism’ opens a machinery semantic field that hardens into an extended metaphor when he later wonders ‘whether the mechanism would’ respond. This mechanising diminishes her humanity and reveals him as coldly curious rather than compassionate.

Furthermore, the personification ‘A smile played about the fat features of Davidson’ casts him as a complacent experimenter; the verb ‘played’ implies idle sport, while the epithet ‘fat features’ ironically undercuts his superiority. The phrase ‘the smile of a man making an amusing experiment’ draws on scientific lexis to frame his behaviour as manipulative; ‘amusing’ signals a cruel levity. His tag question—‘were real Italians, were they not?’—performs politeness yet functions as a probe, a stimulus to elicit data. Crucially, the narratorial aside, ‘Of course, he didn't care,’ and the purpose clause ‘He wanted to see whether the mechanism would’ expose calculated insincerity. Altogether, interrogatives, personification and extended metaphor present Davidson as condescending, treating Mrs Schomberg not as a partner in dialogue but as apparatus.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses dehumanising imagery and sentence forms to show Davidson’s detached, experimental attitude: the list flattened nose, hollow cheek, staring, unwinking, goggle eye objectifies her, while the simile as trying to converse with a mechanism and repeated mechanism reduce her to a thing. Interrogatives Did that speak just now? Will it speak again? and the phrase the smile of a man making an amusing experiment present his smug behaviour; he didn't care and only wanted to see whether the mechanism would, even prodding about real Italians.

The writer uses dehumanising description and comparison to present Davidson as contemptuous and amused. The asyndetic list of adjectives in “a flattened nose, a hollow cheek, and one staring, unwinking, goggle eye” makes Mrs Schomberg seem grotesque, as if he is cataloguing parts rather than seeing a person. His questions, “Did that speak just now? Will it speak again?” use the pronoun “that” to depersonalise her, and the repeated interrogatives show his mocking attitude.

Moreover, the simile “as trying to converse with a mechanism” and the later metaphor “the mechanism” create an image of her as a machine. This semantic field of science presents his behaviour as cold and experimental, showing curiosity without empathy. Personification in “A smile played about the fat features of Davidson” suggests a smug, self-satisfied pleasure, while “the smile of a man making an amusing experiment” makes his manipulation clear.

Additionally, the interrogative he directs at her, “were real Italians, were they not?”, is a leading question. The short declarative “Of course, he didn’t care” underlines his indifference, and the unfinished clause “to see whether the mechanism would—” implies he is prodding for a reaction. Therefore, language presents Davidson as superior and manipulative towards Mrs Schomberg.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response might identify negative description like "flattened nose" and "staring, unwinking, goggle eye" and the simile "as trying to converse with a mechanism" to show he sees her like a thing rather than a person. It would also notice the rhetorical questions "Did that speak just now? Will it speak again?", the phrase "the smile of a man making an amusing experiment", and his question about "real Italians" to suggest he is mocking and testing her, since he "didn't care" and only wanted to "see whether the mechanism would" respond.

The writer uses a simile to show Davidson’s cold attitude. The phrase “as trying to converse with a mechanism” makes Mrs Schomberg seem like a machine, so he treats her as less than human. Moreover, the rhetorical questions “Did that speak just now? Will it speak again?” show he is mocking and curious, as if her voice is a strange object. This shows his behaviour is testing her rather than talking politely. Furthermore, “the smile of a man making an amusing experiment” suggests he enjoys playing with her, like she is part of a test. Additionally, the short sentence “Of course, he didn’t care” and the fake question about “real Italians” show he is insincere; he only wants to see “whether the mechanism would” respond. Overall, the language presents him as cold, playful and unkind towards her.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might spot simple description like flattened nose, hollow cheek, goggle eye and the comparison as trying to converse with a mechanism, saying this shows he sees her as less than human. It might also notice the rhetorical questions Did that speak just now? and Will it speak again? and the phrase amusing experiment, suggesting a mocking, uncaring attitude.

The writer uses adjectives like “flattened nose” and “hollow cheek” to make Mrs Schomberg seem odd, showing Davidson is judging her. The simile “as trying to converse with a mechanism” makes her seem like a machine, so his attitude is cold. Furthermore, the rhetorical questions “Did that speak just now? Will it speak again?” show he is mocking her and treating her like an object. Moreover, the phrase “amusing experiment” suggests his behaviour is playful and cruel. Additionally, “he didn’t care” shows indifference, and his question about Italians is just to test her.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effects of language features such as:

• Grotesque physical detail dehumanises her, reducing her to parts rather than a person (goggle eye).
• The deictic pronoun objectifies her, signalling cold disdain and distance (Did that speak).
• Paired rhetorical questions show clinical curiosity, treating her as an object to provoke (Will it speak again?).
• The simile frames the encounter as impersonal and inhuman, stripping away empathy (converse with a mechanism).
• Lexical repetition sustains an extended metaphor, revealing his aim is merely to elicit reaction (the mechanism would).
• Controlled, exploratory smile suggests manipulative amusement at his own test (smile played).
• Emphasis on his body adds to a self-satisfied air as he toys with her (fat features).
• A leading tag question pressures a response, showing performative, prodding control (were they not?).
• Narrative aside exposes insincerity, clarifying his questions are a pretence (he didn't care).
• Colons to introduce thought and speech create a staged, methodical procedure (He asked himself).

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

You now need to think about the structure of the source as a whole. This text is from the start of a novel.

How has the writer structured the text to create a sense of eeriness?

You could write about:

• how eeriness intensifies from beginning to end
• 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 how the text orchestrates a slow-burn eeriness: the dehumanising set-up (Mrs Schomberg as a "mechanism" with a "goggle eye", prompting Davidson’s anxious self-questioning "Did that speak just now? Will it speak again?"), the strategic withholding through pauses—"The silence was profound"—and the delayed disclosure "whispered at last"/"That friend of yours." so that tension peaks in a sudden, destabilising reveal. It would also note the structural shift in time and perspective—Davidson "told us" this "some time afterwards"—before the narrative zooms out to a bleak panorama (the "black jetty", "deserted houses", "funereal blackboard sign"), extending the initial unease into pervasive desolation.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create eeriness is through a mechanised portrayal of Mrs Schomberg, orchestrated by patterned pacing. The dehumanising pronoun “It” in “It did. It said… It paused” mimics a machine’s start–stop rhythm, while the repetition—“It paused… It paused, then went on”—breaks the flow. Focalised through Davidson’s tentative questioning, her “unmoved physiognomy” and “goggle eye” feel uncanny, as if he is “trying to converse with a mechanism.” The stretched pause—“The silence was profound… long enough to become startling”—elongates time and breeds unease, shifting the mood from amused experiment to ominous hush.

In addition, the writer uses delayed disclosure as a structural pivot. After the hush, the revelation comes in a whisper—“at last: ‘That friend of yours.’”—followed by a perceptual shift: “A mist seemed to roll away.” This anagnorisis ruptures Davidson’s certainties, captured in the broken exclamation, “Heyst! Such a perfect gentleman!” The narrative then widens via a temporal and perspectival shift—“Davidson told us some time afterwards”—a proleptic framing that increases narrative distance and makes the truth feel elusive, sustaining the eeriness.

A further structural strategy is the final change in focus from close dialogue to a desolate panorama. The narrative zooms out into a cumulative catalogue—“That black jetty… these roof-ridges… the… ‘funereal’ blackboard sign”—using deictic pointing like a guided haunting. The abrupt interjection “Ough!” fractures the cadence, signalling visceral dread. Placed at the end, the grave-like simile—“like an inscription stuck above a grave”—and the inert “heap of unsold coal” decelerate the pace into stillness, forming a bleak crescendo that seals the sense of eeriness.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer builds eeriness by starting with a dehumanising close-up and motif—her "flattened nose... goggle eye" and repeated "mechanism"—then delaying key information through pauses ("It paused... The silence was profound") until the whispered reveal "That friend of yours," a structural turning point that shocks the reader. A time/perspective shift ("Davidson told us some time afterwards") and a final zoom-out listing the desolate setting—"black jetty," "deserted houses," and the "funereal" sign like a "grave"—intensify the mood from unease to an oppressive, eerie atmosphere.

One way in which the writer structures the opening to create eeriness is by a tight focus and mechanistic framing of Mrs. Schomberg. We begin with a zoom-in on her “flattened nose… goggle eye,” and Davidson treats her like “a mechanism.” Repeated pauses in the dialogue—“It paused”—and testing questions, “Did that speak just now?” slow the pace and make the room feel unnaturally still, establishing an uncanny atmosphere.

In addition, the writer builds eeriness through delayed revelation. The exchange is stretched by “The silence… lasted long enough to become startling” before the whisper, “That friend of yours.” This withholding creates a turning point, then Davidson’s shocked, faltering response—“Heyst! Such a perfect gentleman!”—keeps tension high while the restricted viewpoint (“A mist seemed to roll away”) maintains our unease.

A further structural feature is a shift in time, perspective and focus. “Davidson told us some time afterwards” moves to retrospective narration and a zoom-out to setting. The accumulation of bleak images—“black jetty,” “deserted houses,” the “funereal… sign” “like… above a grave”—slows the pace and deepens the mood. This contrast with the earlier parlour scene intensifies the eeriness at the close.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would say the eeriness builds from the start’s mechanical stillness (“goggle eye”, “mechanism”) and delays (“It paused”, “silence was profound”) to a hushed reveal (“whispered at last: That friend of yours”), then later (“some time afterwards”) it moves to bleak setting details (“black jetty”, “deserted houses”, “funereal blackboard sign”) to leave an ominous feel.

One way the writer structures eeriness is at the beginning by focusing on Mrs. Schomberg’s stillness and pauses. She is compared to a “mechanism” and we are told “It paused… It paused,” with short dialogue. This stop-start pattern and her “unmoved” face make the moment feel unnatural and uneasy.

In addition, in the middle the writer uses a long silence and a delayed reveal. “The silence was profound… Then… she whispered: ‘That friend of yours.’” The pause and the whisper change the focus and make the revelation feel sinister. Davidson’s reaction (“a mist seemed to roll away”) shows the tension rising.

A further structural feature is the time and focus shift at the end. The narration jumps to “some time afterwards” and then slows into setting: the “black jetty” and “funereal” sign. Ending with this description of loneliness and “desolation” intensifies the eeriness and leaves a cold final image.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: At the start, the writer focuses on Davidson watching her 'goggle eye' and a 'mechanism', which feels odd, then the 'silence was profound' and the whispered 'That friend of yours' make it eerie. By the end, the gloomy setting with the 'black jetty' and 'funereal blackboard sign' makes it feel creepy.

One way the writer creates eeriness is by opening with odd dialogue and a “mechanism” image. The focus on Mrs Schomberg’s “goggle eye” and her tiny, low answers feels creepy.

In addition, the long pause is structural. “The silence was profound” and she “whispered at last”. This slows the pace and makes the reveal, “That friend of yours”, more eerie.

A further feature is a shift of focus to the empty place. The “black jetty”, “deserted houses” and “funereal” sign come at the end, so the mood darkens. Davidson’s short exclamation “Ough!” shows fear.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

AO2 content may include the effect of structural features such as:

• Dehumanising opening description of Mrs. Schomberg’s profile creates an uncanny, lifeless presence that unsettles the scene (one staring, unwinking, goggle eye)
• Experimental Q&A pattern as Davidson tests for speech estranges normal talk, framing dialogue as an unnatural trial (converse with a mechanism)
• Pauses and monotone delivery slow the pace and make speech feel forced and eerie (It paused)
• Withheld response after a moral query denies closure and lets unease accumulate (remained silent)
• The prolonged hush stretches time so that anticipation tips into alarm before the disclosure (to become startling)
• The reveal is whispered and indirect, preserving ambiguity and a chill of implication rather than clarity (That friend of yours)
• Sudden tonal shift from amused curiosity to shaken disbelief disorients the reader, as perception seems to clear ominously (A mist seemed to roll away)
• A temporal and perspectival shift to a later, framed retelling adds distance and the uncanny feel of a story passed on (told us some time afterwards)
• The narrative then pivots from talk to stark setting, signalling seriousness and heightening dread about what follows (no joking matter)
• A cumulative catalogue of bleak features ends in graveyard imagery, concentrating the atmosphere into desolate eeriness (above a grave)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 41 to the end.

In this part of the source, where Davidson sees Mrs. Schomberg as a 'mechanism', it seems like he is just conducting a curious experiment. The writer suggests this actually shows Davidson is cold and fails to see her as a real person with feelings.

To what extent do you agree and/or disagree with this statement?

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Davidson's behaviour towards Mrs Schomberg
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest Davidson's cold detachment
• 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 argue that the writer largely endorses Davidson’s cold detachment, analysing how his clinically curious manner — "placidly", "with the air of a man who knows life", "with assurance" — and the objectifying depiction of Mrs Schomberg’s "immobility", "appearance of listening intently", and being "enthroned above Davidson" reduce her to a mechanism rather than a person with feelings. It would also note the narratorial complication in the later portrayal of the "sensitive Davidson", who adopts an "indulgent view" and imagines Samburan’s desolation ("black jetty", "funereal blackboard sign"), qualifying the charge of outright coldness.

I largely agree that the writer exposes Davidson’s curiosity as coldly mechanistic, reducing Mrs Schomberg to an apparatus that yields information rather than a person with feelings, though the portrait is complicated by his later “sensitivity” to atmosphere. From the outset of this section, the clinical lexis frames the exchange as a procedure: “This was the pronouncement Davidson obtained next. It introduced a new sort of interest.” Words like “pronouncement” and “obtained” make Mrs Schomberg sound like a device producing outputs, while “new sort of interest” implies detached curiosity rather than human concern. His interrogatives—“Where did they go…?,” “Who with?”—are delivered “placidly” and “with assurance,” and the narratorial aside that he speaks “with the air of a man who knows life” carries a cool irony, puncturing his self-possessed confidence. The staging of Mrs Schomberg—“immobility,” “enthroned above Davidson,” and a “silence… profound… startl[ing]”—renders her statuesque, as if an object to be observed. When she “whispered at last,” it reads like the outcome of a test, reinforcing the sense of an experiment rather than a conversation with a distressed woman.

Crucially, even the metaphor that signals Davidson’s realization—“A mist seemed to roll away from before Davidson’s eyes”—centres his perspective. His exclamatives, “You can’t mean it!” and “Heyst! Such a perfect gentleman!” immediately displace Mrs Schomberg’s revelation with his own shock and the rearrangement of his idea of Heyst. The bodily detail—he “went slack all over”—again registers his inward response, while “Mrs. Schomberg never moved her head the least bit” and later “did not seem to have heard him” suggest a breakdown of human exchange: he is, effectively, talking past her. The writer’s orchestration of dialogue and action here highlights Davidson’s failure to engage with her as a feeling subject; she becomes the trigger for his reflections.

The retrospective frame intensifies this. Reported analeptically—“Davidson told us some time afterwards”—the narrative tracks his “indulgent view” of “both the parties,” yet nowhere does he revisit Mrs Schomberg’s emotional state. Instead, the writer bathes Samburan in a funereal semantic field—“black jetty,” “deserted,” “funereal,” “like an inscription… above a grave”—and labels him “the sensitive Davidson” with gently ironic warmth. He is moved by desolation; “the ruins of the spot… impressed Davidson’s simple soul.” Even his sympathy—“The girl must have been miserable indeed”—is modal and conjectural, and directed at the girl, not Mrs Schomberg.

Overall, I agree that Davidson’s “curious experiment” reveals a fundamental coldness: the writer’s diction, staging, and focalisation show him harvesting facts and processing his own certainties, while the person before him remains, tellingly, a mechanism in his inquiry rather than a presence with feelings.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response typically agrees that the writer presents Davidson as coldly detached, using the clinical phrase 'pronouncement Davidson obtained' and the adverbs 'placidly' and 'with assurance' with his brisk 'Who with?' to show he treats her like a mechanism, overlooking her 'immobility' and 'The silence was profound' that suggest feeling. It may also note the mitigating aside 'Thus was the sensitive Davidson', arguing he is naive rather than deliberately cruel.

I mostly agree with the statement. In this section the writer repeatedly frames Davidson’s questioning in mechanical, almost experimental terms, which makes him seem cold towards Mrs Schomberg. The lexis “the pronouncement Davidson obtained” makes her disclosure sound like a result he has extracted, rather than something felt. His tone is “placid” and he asks “with assurance,” adopting “the air of a man who knows life.” This detached, confident manner suggests curiosity more than concern. Structurally, the “profound” silence that “lasted long enough to become startling” and her being “enthroned above Davidson” create a tense pause and a vulnerable image of Mrs Schomberg “whisper[ing] at last.” Yet Davidson cuts through that with the blunt, procedural question “Who with?”, as if testing a hypothesis. The contrast between her “immobility” and his steady questioning reinforces the sense that he treats her like a mechanism to be activated.

When the revelation comes, Davidson’s reaction focuses on Heyst, not on Mrs Schomberg’s feelings. The narrative slips into his viewpoint—“a mist seemed to roll away,” “This startling fact did not tally…with the idea Davidson had of Heyst”—showing his internal recalibration of a “perfect gentleman.” The idiom “You might have knocked me down with a feather” emphasises shock, but again his attention is fixed on reconciling Heyst’s image, not attending to the woman in front of him. This supports the idea that he fails to see Mrs Schomberg as a person.

However, the writer complicates him later. The time shift “some time afterwards” and the evaluative tag “sensitive Davidson” soften our view, while bleak imagery of Samburan—“black jetty,” “funereal blackboard sign,” “general desolation”—elicits his empathy: “The girl must have been miserable indeed.” This shows he isn’t purely cold. Even so, he generalises “the girl” and Mrs Schomberg disappears from his moral horizon.

Overall, to a large extent the writer suggests Davidson’s methodical curiosity masks a cold failure to recognise Mrs Schomberg’s humanity, even if, in retrospect, he proves capable of sympathy in other contexts.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 answer would partly agree, saying the writer shows Davidson as detached through words like "placidly" and "with assurance", and by describing "The silence was profound" and Mrs Schomberg "enthroned above Davidson" to show distance from her feelings. It might also point to "You can't mean it!" as a simple sign he does feel something.

I mostly agree with the statement. In this section the writer often shows Davidson treating Mrs Schomberg like a source of data, not a person. The narrative voice sounds clinical: “the pronouncement Davidson obtained” and that it “introduced a new sort of interest.” The verb “obtained” makes it feel like he is running a test. His adverb “placidly” in “Well! Well!” and the phrase “with the air of a man who knows life” suggest a cool, confident tone. He presses “Who with?” “with assurance,” showing curiosity and control rather than care. Meanwhile, her “immobility,” the “profound” silence, and that she “whispered at last” present her as tense and vulnerable, but he doesn’t respond to that.

When she admits “That friend of yours,” the focus shifts to his inner reaction: “A mist seemed to roll away,” “You can’t mean it!” and “Heyst! Such a perfect gentleman!” The metaphor of the “mist” and the exclamations show shock about Heyst, not empathy for Mrs Schomberg. He even talks past her: “Heyst! … a perfect gentleman!” while “Mrs. Schomberg did not seem to have heard him,” which underlines his lack of engagement with her feelings.

However, the writer also calls him “the sensitive Davidson” and uses bleak imagery of Samburan—the “black jetty” and the “funereal blackboard… like an inscription stuck above a grave.” He thinks “The girl must have been miserable indeed,” which shows some sympathy, though not for Mrs Schomberg.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: Davidson’s methodical questioning and self-focused reactions make him seem cold and detached from Mrs Schomberg as a real person.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response simply agrees that the writer presents Davidson as cold and detached, pointing to words like "mechanism", "placidly", and "Who with?" to say he treats Mrs Schomberg like an object rather than a person with feelings.

I mostly agree with the statement. In this part, Davidson treats Mrs Schomberg like a mechanism he is testing. The narrator says “the pronouncement Davidson obtained next,” which makes it sound like he is collecting results. He says “Well! Well!” “placidly” and asks questions “with assurance,” showing a calm, controlled manner rather than care for her feelings.

The writer uses simple but effective methods to suggest cold detachment. The adverbs and description make him seem distant. Mrs Schomberg’s “immobility” and the long “silence” make her seem like an object he watches, and she is “enthroned above Davidson,” almost like a statue, which fits the idea of him observing her.

Later, when he realises about Heyst, he still talks about Heyst being a “perfect gentleman” instead of thinking about Mrs Schomberg’s emotions. He even takes “an indulgent view” afterwards. The writer also uses setting imagery — the “black jetty” and the “general desolation” — and calls him “the sensitive Davidson,” which, to me, shows he feels more for the place and for Heyst than for her. He only says the girl “must have been miserable.”

Overall, I agree to a large extent. The language and description make Davidson seem cold and not really seeing Mrs Schomberg as a real person.

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:

• Metaphor of machinery dehumanises Mrs Schomberg, implying Davidson views her as an instrument rather than a feeling person (The mechanism remained silent).
• Descriptive focus on surfaces objectifies her and distances him emotionally, treating her as a face to read, not a mind to engage (unmoved physiognomy).
• Authorial aside critiques his compassion as habitual and shallow, supporting the view that his pity masks detachment (easily sorry for people).
• His calm, confident questioning frames the exchange like an impersonal inquiry, reinforcing experimental curiosity over empathy (inquired with assurance).
• The extended pause heightens potential feeling he fails to meet, suggesting insensitivity to her emotional state (silence was profound).
• Dialogue beats show he isn’t really listening; she has already answered, but he presses on, implying self-absorbed control (I've told you).
• On the shock, his priority is defending Heyst’s status rather than acknowledging the women’s experience, revealing misplaced concern (Such a perfect gentleman!).
• Retrospective narration shows him rationalising events, softening judgment instead of confronting harm, which sustains emotional distance (taking an indulgent view).
• Staging elevates her physically yet fixes her as a silent figure, while he remains the analyst below, reinforcing his detached gaze (enthroned above Davidson).
• Vivid setting imagery engages his feelings for place more than people, hinting that his “sensitivity” is misdirected away from human pain (funereal blackboard sign).

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A charity five-a-side tournament is printing a small booklet and will include the best short creative pieces.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Write a description of a rain-soaked five-a-side match from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a kitchen crisis.

(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.

• 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.

• 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.

• 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.

• Level 1 (1–4): Occasional demarcation; some evidence of conscious punctuation; simple sentence forms; occasional Standard English; accurate basic spelling; simple vocabulary.

• 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:

Rain needles the wire cage into a humming bowl; under floodlights, every drop turns to quicksilver. The turf is lacquered—stitched with shallow lakes, stippled with black rubber that freckles calves and tongues. Breath lifts in soft ghosts; the air tastes of pennies and wet plastic, that bright petrichor sucked from the concrete beyond. A whistle tries to be authoritative, thin and clean; the weather eats it anyway.

They play anyway. Socks become anchors; shirts cling to spines; fluorescent bibs paste themselves to shoulders like extra skins. Footsteps stutter and smack; passes skim, then stall; shouts ricochet from mesh to mesh until even fury sounds metallic. The rain is a metronome—sibilant, ceaseless—drumming on skulls, bar, crossbar: impartial, insistent, indiscriminate.

In the glare, the ball glows like a small sun; rain spools into the beams and unravels again. Boots sluice, laces slime. The metal side-boards cough when struck; the cage answers with a long shiver. Even the pitch seems to breathe—exhale, inhale—as water is pressed out and dragged back.

On the left flank, a boy with hair plastered to his brow coaxes the fluorescent ball—an obdurate planet—through a runnel of water. He feints once, twice; a coronet of spray crowns his shins, and the orange sphere replies with a sulk and a swerve. He moves like a thought, sharp and private, until the boot kisses slick crumb; the pitch tilts; he reels, then threads a pass anyway, laughter bright in the rain.

In the opposite mouth, the goalkeeper waits: a neon sentinel with rain beading his lashes and latex squeaking in clenched gloves. The net hangs heavy, ropes dark with saturation; the crossbar wears a necklace of cold beads. A shot arrives low—skipping, predatory—and he goes with it; knee bites turf, water flowers; he gathers the slick thing to his chest (applause is the wet slap of palm on plastic).

Already the counter breaks—a blur of legs, neon, breath. One pass; a cut-back; someone arrives like a skater, studs kissing water, throwing a white curtain that briefly erases everyone. When it drops, geometry is simple: man, ball, open mouth. He swings. The strike is clean and wayward; it screams, then veers as if tugged by a mischievous string, chimes the post and ricochets into a tangle of limbs and mirth.

Beyond the fence, spectators huddle in their own small climates beneath umbrellas; steam unthreads from shoulders; an insult—friendly, barbed—slides through the mesh. Time dilates, then tightens again. And still the rain governs—old tyrant, tender nurse—punishing slackness, blessing audacity. When the whistle finally survives long enough to be heard, it slices the scene; jerseys are wrung into little rivers, silhouettes tilt to drink the sky, and the ball sits sulking, docile at last.

Option B:

Sunday, almost noon. The kitchen held its breath: aluminium pans basked; a rank of glass jars caught the light like a miniature orchestra of suns; butter, left out early, relaxed into a glossy, golden slouch. Steam curled from the kettle in a feathery susurration that threaded itself through the room as if the house were exhaling winter. Calm spread itself across the worktop in careful drifts of flour and notes in tidy loops of ink. For once, Maya felt certain.

Tonight mattered. Her new boss and his wife were coming, and the menu had been rehearsed like a speech. She had a plan: rosemary lamb with garlic confit; saffron risotto stirred at the last moment; courgettes with charred edges and lemon; a tart so bright and tart (she couldn’t help the repetition) it would sharpen the end of the evening. She had practised; she had timed; she had labelled. The clock above the cooker ticked with metronomic approval.

She set the sugar to dissolve for the lemon curd—slow, low—while the stock warmed for the risotto and the oven preheated to a precise, unarguable temperature. The room murmured with industry. It would be fine, she told herself; more than fine. What could possibly go wrong?

The phone shivered across the counter. So excited! Traffic’s light. We’ll be there by five-thirty. A small sentence, almost polite, yet it punctured her composure like a pin through a balloon. Five-thirty. She glanced at the clock, recalculated, felt time bunch and fray. She breathed in; she breathed out; she sharpened her focus.

Meanwhile, the sugar darkened. Not amber; not yet. She lifted the pan, twisted her wrist—confident, perhaps too confident—and reached for the mixer. Egg yolks separated like falling suns; butter took on the cool of the marble. The blender’s lid, placed but not clicked (a sin she’d lectured others about), waited.

The timer chirruped. The doorbell pinged: a parcel. For a second—only a second—she stepped away, and the kitchen, fickle as weather, turned.

The blender roared. A plume of lemon—liquid brightness, silk turned savage—shot upward with jubilant disobedience, then cascaded in yellow arcs across the tiles. The cat bolted, the spatula skittered, and a bottle of olive oil, elbowed by chaos, toppled, spilling its green-gold slick towards the hob. The sugar, now too dark, developed that unmistakable, bitter scent: burnt, acrid, insistent.

The smoke alarm shrieked.

Maya lunged for the pan, but the caramel seized—glass-hard, obstinate—while a shallow ribbon of oil found the ring of flame and flared with a theatrical whoomph. Heat licked up as if the stove had grown a tongue. She snatched a damp tea towel, smothered the small fire—please be small, stay small—turned off the gas, flung open the window. Cold air shouldered in; curtains snapped like sails.

“Okay—okay,” she said to no one, or to the house. She killed the blender (too late), scooped lemon from the walls with sacrificial slices of bread (a trick from some cookery blog), and set the smoking pan outside on the step. The cat, tail inflated, watched her with appalled decorum.

For a breath, everything trembled on the edge of quiet. Then the alarm resumed its staccato howl, and somewhere behind it, the risotto stock began to boil over, an impatient foamy collapse that sounded, absurdly, like applause.

Maya laughed—too loudly—and put her head in her hands. She had a plan; she still had a plan. It was just, at this precise moment, on fire.

• Level 4 Lower (19-21 marks for AO5, 13-16 marks for AO6, 32-37 marks total)

Option A:

Under hard, humming floodlights the rain falls at a slant, knitting the air into wet cloth. The astroturf glows a bruised green, slick as glass; metal fences shiver when a stray ball kisses them, sending a tinny alarm along the links. Steam lifts from shoulders; breath blooms and disappears. The smell is complicated: rubber granules and damp nylon; wet concrete; a bite of cold. Above, haloes smear around each droplet so the downpour looks almost celebratory—confetti and curtain together, relentless.

A shout—more dare than whistle—and they begin. Neon bibs flare; quick feet stencil patterns in the water. The ball, lacquered with rain, refuses to behave: it skids, it darts, it takes small, mutinous hops. Pass, pass, press; a turn on the instep; a squeal as trainers lose their argument with the turf. The keeper in cheap gloves braces, knees splayed; the net tugs at his shoulders. A shot whistles; he palms it up and it explodes into droplets that sting the nearest defender. Laughter, swearing, encouragement—noise ricochets along the cage like swallows in a bell.

They are not a team so much as a collage. One is a postman with calves like coiled rope; one is a sixth-former, skinny as chalk, reticent until the ball finds his foot. There is a nurse on her break, hair hooked into a bun that refuses to stay; a man who has clearly borrowed boots (they quack). Some play with economy; others with extravagance. Some slide because the surface insists—others because they love to fall and get up, grinning, drenched, ridiculous.

The match moves in sudden weather: calm, then thunder. Back and forth; two touches become one; a missed control becomes an opportunity. Time tightens to the beat of soles and the hard drum of rain. Near the end—no one watches a clock—fatigue hangs from shoulders like wet towels. Then a break: the sixth-former steals it, shoulders hunched; he slips by one, tucks it under another, and with a brave, clumsy toe-poke sends the ball skimming towards the corner. It kisses the inside of the post, shivers the net. For a second everything pauses—rain, light, lungs.

Then the cage erupts. The builder roars; the nurse claps; the keeper laughs at himself, wringing a glove until it drips. Fists tap; shoulders bump. It is small and ordinary and luminous. Beyond the mesh the night is a cold thing, but inside this square of sopping green they are five against the weather—five together, bright as the floodlights, soaked and satisfied.

Option B:

Heat. The kind that clings to skin; butter softens just by looking at it, and the air tastes of pepper and panic. Steam beads the window until the garden outside is a smear of green; every surface gleams with a treacherous sheen. The kettle chatters; the extractor drones; the clock pecks away seconds with a beak of steel. On the hob, four blue eyes stare, unblinking.

Maya thumbs open the recipe although she could recite it: sweat the onions, coax the garlic, let the tomatoes collapse. Simple, she had believed; homely, almost penitential. Her phone glows with a message from her mother—We’re on our way—while the page insists on a thirty-minute simmer; the numbers refuse to make peace. How do you measure a minute when everything is shouting? She knots her hair with a strip of clean tea towel, a makeshift halo already freckled with flour, and inhales the fugitive sweetness of caramelising sugar. You can do this, she tells the oven as if it were a truculent child. It answers with a thin blink and an implacable hum.

Then the kitchen turns. A bead of oil leaps from the pan and kisses her wrist—sting, shock—and the onions go from translucent to tawny to something darker in a heartbeat. The caramel tips into bitter; an acrid thread unfurls like a warning, and the smoke alarm, theatrically aghast, clears its throat and howls. The blender coughs because she has forgotten the lid, and a constellation of tomato freckles the cabinets; basil confetti stipples the tiles. An egg, parked near the edge, rolls—hesitates—commits: a soft detonation, a sun spilled across the tessellated floor. The cat skitters, tail sketching a question mark. For a moment Maya is a conductor whose orchestra plays four scores at once—percussion clattering, strings sawing, brass braying steam—and her hands, a blur, cannot find the downbeat.

It had seemed essential, this dinner: a rebuttal to the family joke that she burns salad. She wanted to translate Nonna’s slanted instruction—use your nose, listen for the change—into something that would sit in bowls and persuade sceptics. Yet kitchens have their own weather; heat moves in capricious eddies, and the smallest decision—a notch higher, a minute more—becomes consequential. She flings the window open; the day pushes in, crisp and dispassionate, and the smoke uncoils in reluctant ropes. Silence follows when she jabs the alarm into submission. The sauce, against odds, tastes almost right. The doorbell rings. She lifts the spoon—baton, talisman—and steps into the unfolding maelstrom.

• Level 3 Upper (16-18 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 25-30 marks total)

Option A:

Rain stitches the night together, relentless, silver lines under the floodlights. The cage glitters; the fence hums quietly with every gust. The pitch is a slick, green pane where white lines blur and bead; nets hang heavy, dripping like tired curtains. Rubber from the crumbed surface rises in a damp, sweet smell, mixed with sweat and something faintly metallic from the chain-link. A dull thud replaces the usual ping of the ball. Breath fogs the air; voices cut thin and urgent through the hiss. Five-a-side seems simple on paper; out here it is ten against the weather.

Then the game snaps into speed. Trainers squeak then slap; bodies pivot, jink, stumble. Our captain barks, arms slicing the rain: “Press! Press!” A winger in bright red socks darts along the touchline, water fountaining from each step; the goalkeeper—fluorescent, hunched—wipes his brow though it can’t stay dry. Passes skim like flat stones; the ball takes a life of its own, kissing a puddle and leaping unpredictably. A late tackle throws up a halo of spray; laughter, a grimace, apologies lost in the weather. Still, we reset, again and again, shoulders squared, teeth set.

Meanwhile, a gap opens—small, shining. We pounce. One-two, then a drag-back that almost fails because the sole slips, but doesn’t. The fence rattles as boots brush it, and the ball is threaded through. For a heartbeat it sticks in a shallow lake; time stretches long and elastic. He adjusts, toe-pokes; the keeper sprawls, gloves like sponges. A palm, a deflection; the shot thuds the post and skitters away, spraying us with cold. Someone groans, someone laughs, someone swears softly. The rain does not care. It keeps falling, louder, like coins on a tin roof.

By the last few minutes, shirts cling like second skins and legs feel full of sand. Communication is simpler now—names, numbers, one-syllable plans. We are all steam and shine under the lights; the ground gives a little under foot, resilient but treacherous. A stray backheel almost gifts them a goal; a desperate toe rescues it. When the whistle peals, it sounds thin, almost embarrassed. We shake hands that are slick and cold. Beyond the fence, cars hiss through puddles; inside, we are breathless, grinning, ordinary. In this small, fenced-in world, the storm isn’t a problem: it’s the point.

Option B:

The kitchen was a stage and the morning light lifted its curtain, gliding across the tiles until the stainless steel glimmered. A pan waited on the hob like a quiet promise; the clock ticked with patient authority. For once, I believed I had time—time to impress, to plate something worthy, to make lunch behave.

I had chosen coq au vin—a brave choice, my mother had said. Still, the instructions seemed straightforward: brown, deglaze, simmer. I lined the ingredients in obedient rows: mushrooms marching, carrots scrubbed, a battalion of garlic. The knife met the board with small declarations. Meanwhile, my phone pulsed: on their way; traffic light; hungry.

I turned the flame higher to hurry the oil. It sulked, then sprang into action, spitting like a temper. I dropped in the chicken; the kitchen applauded, then smoked. The extractor fan coughed. A shriek drilled the ceiling—alarm. I propped a tea towel beneath it; waved; coughed. Then: “Five minutes!”

At that exact moment, the lid of the salt jar refused to budge; the sugar, obliging, stood open. A pale blizzard fell over the pan. I tasted. Sweetness bloomed where savour should be; the sauce turned sticky at the edges—a treacle of regret. I grabbed vinegar, splashed too much; added water; stirred with zeal. The mixture sulked again, brown and cloudy; the mushrooms bobbed like lifebelts.

Because crises like company, the blender chose then to misbehave. I wanted a silky purée; I got confetti. The lid, not quite tightened, lifted with a smug burp and sprayed the walls with beetroot—violet freckles across cupboards, apron, cheek. I stood in a storm of my own making, the room buzzing: timer, phone, alarm. The cat hovered in the doorway, offended.

However, panic is noisy and useless. I opened the window and silenced the alarm; the cold marched in. I fished out the sugared chicken, rinsed the pan in furious circles, started again—lower heat; slower breaths. Footsteps approached, firm. The doorbell rang while my hands were butter-slick. I looked at the chaos—the confetti walls, the steaming pan trying to behave—and I smiled. Then the lights flickered once, twice, and the hob went dark.

• Level 3 Lower (13-15 marks for AO5, 9-12 marks for AO6, 22-27 marks total)

Option A:

The floodlights turn the rain into silver strings across the dark. The pitch shimmers below them, green and slick, sprinkled with black rubber like pepper. Around the wire fence, shadows lean and listen. A whistle slashes the air; the ball is touched and slips away, eager to run.

Trainers squeal; water leaps at every step. Voices bounce inside the cage: "Man on!" The rain is a drumbeat on jackets and bibs; it needles cheeks until they shine. A pass is threaded through, low and risky. It skims the surface; the striker chases, sliding, righting himself with a windmill of arms. The keeper steps out, gloves dark and swollen. For a heartbeat the whole pitch holds its breath. Shot and block meet with a dull clap, a sheet of water rising between them.

Play turns; it always turns. The other way now, a sudden counter under the harsh glare. Someone slides—spray fans out, cold and glittering—and a tackle bites. The ball ricochets off the board, returns obediently, and is met with an instant toe-poke. Post: a ringing note, like cutlery on a plate.

The minutes thin. Shirts grow heavier; voices roughen. Pass after pass, short and urgent, a pattern holds for three beats before the rain breaks it. A chance arrives by accident: a scuffed ball rolls free; the smallest player reaches it first. He leans, he guides, and this time the net takes it—shivering, gulping. The whistle follows, sharp and final. Rain keeps falling while laughter drifts into the night.

Option B:

Sunday morning. The time of toast and tea; sunlight sketching pale squares across the tiles.

Maya tied her apron too tight. She had promised pancakes for her little brother, even though Mum had dashed out, leaving the hob waiting. She measured with care: flour lifting like dust, sugar falling in a bright shower. Eggs cracked, a small mess, but she wiped it away, smiling at the sizzle she could almost hear already.

Then the oil decided to speak. It spat, a sharp hiss, as the pan grew impatient. The phone buzzed; her eye flicked down for one careless second, and the batter slid too thick, too fast. A pale puddle spread and stuck. The smell changed—sweet to sharp, then bitter. A thread of smoke curled up, lazy at first, then confident.

She tried to flip; it tore; pieces like tired paper. She nudged the knob lower, but her elbow knocked the tea towel. Its corner brushed the flame and glowed orange. For a heartbeat she watched. Then the smoke alarm screamed.

Move, she told herself. Lid, Mum said a lid smothers it. She grabbed the metal tray and covered the pan. The fire snapped and collapsed into smoke, but the alarm wouldn’t stop; it wouldn’t even pause, it just hammered the room. Eyes stinging, she opened the window; cold air rushed in. The pancake, if you could call it that, stuck like rubber to the ceiling of the pan, and the syrup she’d warmed had boiled over and formed a brown rim that looked almost like glass. It’ll be fine, she whispered. It was not fine, not yet. The air tasted acrid. On the back step, a neighbour’s head appeared. “Everything smells burnt,” he said. She could only nod, cheeks hot as the ring cooling beneath the tray.

• Level 2 Upper (10-12 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 15-20 marks total)

Option A:

Rain needles the wire cage, insisting on every surface. Under the floodlights, the astroturf shines slick and dark; droplets glitter and race down faces, sleeves, the goalpost. Boots slap and squeak as players hustle in tight circles, quick like sparks. The smell of rubber, wet turf and cheap aftershave hangs heavy. Shouts ricochet off the metal boards; the whistle gives a thin cough. Passes snap across, stall in puddles, then go again—stuttering but relentless. Back and forth, back and forth, the ball becomes everyone’s problem and no one’s friend.

A boy in a flourescent bib darts past a defender, water spraying from his heels. The ball skids on it's belly like soap; he stabs at it, loses it, wins it. One touch, a burst, a slip. The keeper flings himself, he slides through a tide of grit and rain; gloves smack the ball, and it skitters away. Teammates crash together, a tangle of elbows and apologies, then break apart. Someone laughs, sharp and breathless. Meanwhile the fence rattles, the storm playing it like a drum.

Breath clouds the air; shoulders hunch against the cold; shirts cling like second skin. Puddles flare into mirrors for a second, then explode under stampeding studs. Time beats with the rain: tap, tap, tap. A quick give-and-go, a toe poke, a save. The floodlights hold their white stare—unyielding. Yet nobody asks to stop; nobody wants the last touch to be a mistake. The rain does not care—it keeps falling, falling—while the game moves on, back and forth, under the humming lights.

Option B:

Sunday morning. The time of warm toast; the kettle humming, sunlight stroking the pale tiles, and a brave idea forming in my head. One goal: pancakes. Mum was still asleep, the hallway quiet as a held breath. The radio murmured in the corner; my confidence grew.

At first everything behaved. Batter smooth and pale, bowl heavy in my hands. The pan warmed, oil shivered like it was nervous too. I poured a careful circle; it pooled like a small moon. Then the heat jumped. The edge blackened faster than I could blink, the oil spat, and smoke curled up in grey ribbons, it crept along the ceiling. The alarm didn’t beep, it screamed. I grabbed a tea towel - too late - and flapped it so hard the smoke seemed to spread.

Meanwhile the kettle boiled over and hissed at my ankles. I thought water would help; it didn’t. The pan coughed, and a bitter, acrid smell climbed into my mouth. Our cat shot across the counter like a furry bullet and hit the flour tub. A white cloud exploded. It fell on the sticky syrup, making paste that clung to everything. How did breakfast turn into a battlefield? My hands shook, but I turned off the hob and opened the back door. Cold air rushed in, sharp and clean, and for a second the kitchen paused. Then the towel brushed the pan again and a tiny flame licked up, and I stared at it, astonished by my own small catastrophe.

• Level 2 Lower (7-9 marks for AO5, 5-8 marks for AO6, 12-17 marks total)

Option A:

The floodlights buzzed above the cage as rain hammered down, the wires dripping like strings. It fell in hard sheets, quick and cold, making the black astro shine. The boards were slick; when the ball smacked them the whole cage rattled.

The ball flashed across the slick surface; it didn’t roll, it skimmed. Back and forth, back and forth, each pass too fast to catch clean. A keeper in a neon shirt dived, palms slapping the water with a flat clap. Spray flew up, it hit my face and tasted like rubber and salt.

Meanwhile, five a side, shirts stuck to our backs, heavy and cold; the numbers ran in the wet, blue ink bleeding. Someone shouted Man on! over the drumming rain - I hardly heard. My socks were puddles; my toes numb.

Then, suddenly, a break. The striker’s touch was big, and still the ball slid for him, racing to the goal. The keeper sprang, fingertips reached; he parried it onto the post. I swung a boot, half a second late.

The final whistle sliced through the rain and the floodlights threw small halos around every head. We laughed, soaked through, breathless; how could we stop now?

Option B:

Morning. The kitchen looked calm, like it always does before anyone wakes up. Steam breathed from the kettle, a soft white cloud, and the radio mumbled a cheerful song; it sounded safe. I wanted to make a huge surprise breakfast for Mum, pancakes and eggs and orange juice, like a café but at home. The recipe—well, the reciepe—was open on my phone. At first I felt confident. I whisked batter, I sliced fruit, I put bread in the toaster. Easy, I thought. Easy.

Then the pan hissed. Oil jumped like little fleas. I turned away for a second, just one second, and the milk boiled over, racing across the hob and down the cupboards. Suddenly the smoke alarm screamed, a horrible metal bird, and I dropped the spatula. The cat leapt onto the counter and skidded through flour. Meanwhile, the toaster decided to spit out black toast and the smell crawled everywhere. I tried to do everything at once—wipe, stir, fan the alarm—but my hands felt seperated from my brain. How was I going to save breakfast, and the kitchen? The pan spat again and I stepped back too late, it kissed my wrist and I said a word I probably shouldn’t.

• Level 1 Upper (4-6 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 5-10 marks total)

Option A:

Rain hit the pitch like little stones. It keep coming down. The floodlights make white lines in the dark sky, they wobble. Five a side is on, no one stops, not now. The ball is bright orange but it wear a coat of mud. Feet slap slap in the puddles, splash, splash. Someone shouts man on, someone laugh, the whistle squeal. My shirt sticks on my back and I can taste rain, it is cold and a bit like metal. The keeper dives and skids. He slides into the net and the net shakes, water jumps off it. Boots squeak, and then they slip, we all slip. Back and forward, back and forward, the ball goes like a small boat.

The rain is louder than us. It beat the ground. We are blinking and running and slipping, but we keep going because we want that one more goal, just one, just one.

Option B:

Morning in the flat kitchen. I wanted eggs and toast, easy. The pan warmed, the butter went soft, I watched like a guard. Then the oil spit. A pop. I turn away to get bread and the flame jumps up, like a orange dog, and it licks the pan. It smells sharp and black. My eyes water.

The alarm starts beeping, angry bees. Beep beep beep! I say it’s fine, it’s fine. It is not fine. I grab a tea towel and wave it but the smoke grows.

Mum is out so it’s only me, and I seen videos, you put water, right, so I splash the sink and throw it, and the fire goes whoosh, bigger, it bites at me and I jump back and hit the chair and my knee hurts.

What do I do now? I dont even know.

The kettle is boiling. The toast is black.

• Level 1 Lower (1-3 marks for AO5, 1-4 marks for AO6, 2-7 marks total)

Option A:

Rain hits the cage hard, like stones. The flood lights are bright and they buzz, the pitch shiny and slippy, puddles everywhere, my socks are wet already. We shout and laugh, but the wind push us. The ball skids fast, it shoots away, splash splash. Boots slide, someone falls, he swears and grins. Our breath is white in the cold, faces red, hair stuck, shirts sticked to there backs. The net shakes when it goes in, or not, hard to tell with rain in my eyes. It smells like wet rubber and mud. The bus will be late I think.

Option B:

Morning. The time of toast and tea, the kettle sings and I think it is ok but its not. The pan is too hot. Oil pops like little fire crackers, I say it is fine but it is not. Smoke comes like a grey ghost over the tiles and the alarm beeps loud loud! My hand is wet, I throw water on it and on the pan and the pan hisses. Egg slide on the floor. The dog slips and barks. Mum is at work, I shout her name anyway. My phone buzzs about math homework, I dont care, the kitchen is a mess.