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 What did Mr. Pontellier scan at the start?: the callers’ names – 1 mark
• 1.2 How did Mr. Pontellier read some of the names?: aloud, with comments – 1 mark
• 1.3 What kind of deal did Mr. Pontellier say he worked for the Misses Delasidas’ father?: a big deal in futures – 1 mark
• 1.4 What did Mr. Pontellier say about the Misses Delasidas?: nice girls; it’s time they were getting married – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 1 to 81 of the source:

1 Mr. Pontellier scanned the names of his wife’s callers, reading some of them aloud, with comments as he read. “‘The Misses Delasidas.’ I worked a big deal in futures for their father this morning; nice girls; it’s time they were getting married. ‘Mrs. Belthrop.’ I

6 tell you what it is, Edna; you can’t afford to snub Mrs. Belthrop. Why, Belthrop could buy and sell us ten times over. His business is worth a good, round sum to me. You’d better write her a note. ‘Mrs. James Highcamp.’ Hugh! the less you have to do with Mrs. Highcamp, the better. ‘Madame Laforcé.’ Came all the way from Carrolton, too, poor old soul. ‘Miss Wiggs,’ ‘Mrs. Eleanor

11 Boltons.’” He pushed the cards aside. “Mercy!” exclaimed Edna, who had been fuming. “Why are you taking the thing so seriously and making such a fuss over it?”

16 “I’m not making any fuss over it. But it’s just such seeming trifles that we’ve got to take seriously; such things count.” The fish was scorched. Mr. Pontellier would not touch it. Edna said she did not mind a little scorched taste. The roast was in some way not to his fancy,

21 and he did not like the manner in which the vegetables were served. “It seems to me,” he said, “we spend money enough in this house to procure at least one meal a day which a man could eat and retain his self-respect.”

26 “You used to think the cook was a treasure,” returned Edna, indifferently. “Perhaps she was when she first came; but cooks are only human. They need looking after, like any other class of persons that you employ. Suppose I didn’t look after the clerks in my office, just let them run things their own

31 way; they’d soon make a nice mess of me and my business.” “Where are you going?” asked Edna, seeing that her husband arose from table without having eaten a morsel except a taste of the highly-seasoned soup.

36 “I’m going to get my dinner at the club. Good night.” He went into the hall, took his hat and stick from the stand, and left the house. She was somewhat familiar with such scenes. They had often made her very unhappy. On a few previous occasions she had been completely deprived of any

41 desire to finish her dinner. Sometimes she had gone into the kitchen to administer a tardy rebuke to the cook. Once she went to her room and studied the cookbook during an entire evening, finally writing out a menu for the week, which left her harassed with a feeling that, after all, she had accomplished no good that was worth the name.

46 But that evening Edna finished her dinner alone, with forced deliberation. Her face was flushed and her eyes flamed with some inward fire that lighted them. After finishing her dinner she went to her room, having instructed the boy to tell any other callers that she was indisposed.

51 It was a large, beautiful room, rich and picturesque in the soft, dim light which the maid had turned low. She went and stood at an open window and looked out upon the deep tangle of the garden below. All the mystery and witchery of the night seemed to have gathered there amid the perfumes and the dusky and

56 tortuous outlines of flowers and foliage. She was seeking herself and finding herself in just such sweet, half-darkness which met her moods. But the voices were not soothing that came to her from the darkness and the sky above and the stars. They jeered and sounded mournful notes without promise, devoid even of hope. She turned back into the room and began to walk to and fro down its

61 whole length without stopping, without resting. She carried in her hands a thin handkerchief, which she tore into ribbons, rolled into a ball, and flung from her. Once she stopped, and taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet. When she saw it lying there, she stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it. But her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon

66 the little glittering circlet. In a sweeping passion she seized a glass vase from the table and flung it upon the tiles of the hearth. She wanted to destroy something. The crash and clatter were what she wanted to hear.

71 A maid, alarmed at the din of breaking glass, entered the room to discover what was the matter. “A vase fell upon the hearth,” said Edna. “Never mind; leave it till morning.”

76 “Oh! you might get some of the glass in your feet, ma’am,” insisted the young woman, picking up bits of the broken vase that were scattered upon the carpet. “And here’s your ring, ma’am, under the chair.”

81 Edna held out her hand, and taking the ring, slipped it upon her finger.

How does the writer use language here to present Mr. Pontellier’s attitude to the callers and Edna’s response? 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 analyse how Chopin constructs Mr. Pontellier’s status‑fixated authority through mercantile lexis and imperatives—“buy and sell us ten times over,” “worth a good, round sum,” “You’d better write her a note”—and staccato domestic judgments like “The fish was scorched,” capped by the aphoristic “such things count,” to show his commodification of social ties and policing of appearances. It would also trace Edna’s escalating resistance via sensuous‑gothic imagery and violent, symbolic action—“mystery and witchery,” “They jeered,” “tore/flung/stamped” at the “little glittering circlet”—while noting sentence‑form effects such as parallelism “without stopping, without resting” and the blunt declarative “She wanted to destroy something,” before the cyclical “slipped it upon her finger” reveals constraint reasserting itself.

The writer frames Mr. Pontellier through a semantic field of commerce, presenting a transactional attitude to callers. He "scanned" names like accounts, invoking "futures," a "big deal," and people "worth a good, round sum." The idiom "can’t afford to snub" and the claim that "such things count" mathematise social life, as if callers were currency. His hyperbole that Belthrop could "buy and sell us ten times over" signals deference to wealth; the inclusive pronoun "us" collapses his marriage into a joint holding. The imperative "You’d better write her a note" enacts control. Sentence forms betray judgment: the interjection "Hugh!" and elliptical aside "Came all the way... poor old soul" sound curt and patronising, while "He pushed the cards aside" reduces reputations to objects to be shuffled.

Conversely, Edna’s response is rendered through visceral imagery that charts rebellion. The metaphor "eyes flamed with some inward fire" suggests awakening self-assertion, while the night is personified—"voices... jeered"—to externalise her unrest. A kinetic tricolon—she "tore," "rolled," then "flung"—and violent verbs "seized" and "stamped" stage her defiance in the body. Crucially, the wedding ring becomes a symbol of constraint: the "little glittering circlet" looks slight but "did not make an indenture," a word with contractual connotations that hints at bondage she cannot dent. Additionally, onomatopoeic "crash and clatter" and the emphatic simple sentence "She wanted to destroy something" crystallise her urge to break the social economy her husband worships. Thus, ledger-like diction is juxtaposed with elemental imagery to expose his calculation and her refusal.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain that the writer presents Mr. Pontellier as status-driven through imperative and transactional language like 'You'd better write her a note', 'buy and sell us ten times over' and 'worth a good, round sum', showing he judges callers by economic value and reputation; short declaratives like 'Good night' and the claim that 'such things count' reinforce his controlling, dismissive attitude. It would also identify Edna’s emotional, rebellious response via vivid verbs and symbolism—she 'flung' the 'wedding ring' and sought the 'crash and clatter'—alongside metaphor and personification such as 'inward fire' and 'voices... jeered', to convey frustration and a desire to break constraints.

The writer presents Mr. Pontellier’s attitude to the callers as calculating and status‑driven through a semantic field of finance. As he reads, he ties names to profit: “a big deal in futures” and Belthrop could “buy and sell us ten times over.” The financial metaphor “you can’t afford to snub” turns social duty into a transaction. His imperative, “You’d better write her a note,” and the exclamative “Hugh!” about Mrs Highcamp create a controlling, dismissive tone, showing he evaluates people for usefulness.

Furthermore, listing and comparison emphasise his fault‑finding authority. The tricolon—“fish… scorched,” the roast “not to his fancy,” and the vegetables’ “manner”—builds a carping voice, while the simile “like any other class of persons that you employ” and the office analogy reduce home to business and protect his “self‑respect.”

In contrast, Edna’s response is passionate and resistant, shown by vivid imagery and symbolism. The metaphor “eyes flamed with some inward fire” signals awakening anger, while personification—voices that “jeered”—echoes her turmoil. Dynamic verbs—she “stamped” and “flung”—and the unmarked “little glittering circlet” of the ring suggest marriage’s grip. Finally, the onomatopoeic “crash and clatter” reveals her urge to shatter constraint.

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 that the writer shows Mr. Pontellier as bossy and worried about status through imperative, business-like talk like "You’d better write her a note" and money/status phrases "Belthrop could buy and sell us ten times over", plus picky details "The fish was scorched" and "such things count" to show he cares about reputation. For Edna, it would pick out strong action words and sound imagery—"flung", "stamped", "crash and clatter"—and mood words "mystery and witchery of the night", noticing the short sentence "Good night" to show anger, frustration and distance.

The writer uses business language and imperatives to present Mr. Pontellier’s attitude to the callers. He says 'buy and sell us ten times over' and 'worth a good, round sum', making the visits sound like money and deals. This suggests he values status and profit more than people. The imperative 'You'd better write her a note' shows he wants to control Edna, and the firm statement 'such things count' makes visits seem like serious business. He 'scanned' and 'pushed the cards aside', showing a brisk, dismissive tone.

Furthermore, Edna’s response is shown with violent verbs and metaphor. She 'flung' her ring and 'stamped her heel', which shows anger and rebellion. Her 'eyes flamed' with an 'inward fire' is a metaphor for strong feelings. Additionally, the onomatopoeia 'crash and clatter' suggests she wants to release her emotions, and the personification that the voices 'jeered' shows the night echoing her mood.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses commanding, status-focused language from Mr. Pontellier like "you’d better write her a note" and "buy and sell us ten times over" to show he is controlling and cares about money and reputation. For Edna, strong action words such as "flung," "stamped," and "wanted to destroy something" show she is angry and starting to resist.

The writer uses imperatives to present Mr. Pontellier’s attitude to the callers. “You’d better write her a note” shows he is bossy and that status matters to him. Moreover, the exaggeration “buy and sell us ten times over” makes him seem focused on money. Furthermore, his phrase “such things count” shows he takes callers seriously, while the verb “pushed” sounds dismissive. Edna’s response has an exclamation: “Mercy!” and a rhetorical question, which show she is fuming. Additionally, violent verbs like “flung”, “stamped” and “tore” show anger. The metaphor “eyes flamed” and the “crash and clatter” emphasise her outburst.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Business/transactional lexis frames callers as economic assets, revealing a mercenary stance toward social visits (worth a good, round sum)
• Imperative modality asserts control over Edna’s responses, positioning him as manager of her social obligations (You’d better write)
• Hyperbolic comparison elevates wealth and status over personal feeling, showing deference to power (buy and sell us)
• Aphoristic assertion about etiquette reframes “trifles” as consequential, stressing social accounting and reputation (such things count)
• Hyperbolic complaint ties domestic competence to male honour, signalling entitlement and blame-shifting (retain his self-respect)
• Curt, two-word sentence underscores cold withdrawal and punitive authority as he leaves (Good night.)
• Rhetorical challenge and colloquial minimising undercut his fussing, showing immediate resistance from Edna (such a fuss)
• Structural pivot to measured self-control marks a new, inward resolve after earlier compliance (forced deliberation)
• Violent diction and onomatopoeia externalise repressed anger in a cathartic bid to damage and be heard (crash and clatter)
• Symbolism of the ring contrasts revolt with constraint; her brief defiance collapses into social conformity (slipped it upon her finger)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how alienation intensifies 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 track the structural arc from Mr. Pontellier’s public, transactional opening as he scanned the names to the abrupt rupture when he left the house, then the pivot from dialogue to Edna’s solitary interiority as she finished her dinner alone and hears night voices devoid even of hope, before a symbolic climax where attempts at destruction—she tore into ribbons and finds not a mark upon the little glittering circlet—collapse into cyclical entrapment when she slipped it upon her finger, showing how these moves intensify alienation from social sphere to self and from rebellion to entrapment. It would also note the retrospective frame (She was somewhat familiar with such scenes) to show alienation as habitual and deepening rather than isolated.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create a sense of alienation is the movement from a public opening to an isolated focus. The source opens with dialogic listing as Mr. Pontellier scans calling cards and appends mercantile glosses ('Belthrop could buy and sell us'), while parataxis about the meal ('The fish was scorched.') cools the tone and marginalises Edna. His abrupt exit ('left the house') becomes a structural pivot that severs her from the social sphere; the ensuing sustained focalisation—'Edna finished her dinner alone'—positions the reader within her separateness.

In addition, iterative analepsis makes her alienation habitual. The retrospective sweep ('She was somewhat familiar... Sometimes... Once...') compresses time to show a pattern of unhappiness and futile compliance, before the temporal deictic 'But that evening' signals deviation. The pace decelerates into atmosphere: 'soft, dim light' and garden 'witchery' promise refuge, but a tonal shift occurs as 'the voices... jeered,' turning the setting into an agent of exclusion.

A further structural feature is escalation to a symbolic climax followed by bathos. Kinetic repetition ('to and fro... without resting') builds momentum; the narrative zooms to the ring, whose intactness ('not a mark') renders defiance impotent. Seeking noise, she smashes the vase—the 'crash and clatter' externalises rupture—only for the maid’s intrusion to reframe the crisis as household tidying. The closing image—Edna 'slipped it upon her finger'—reinstates the emblem of marriage; this anticlimactic reassertion of order intensifies the alienation.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer structures alienation to intensify: from the public, transactional listing as Mr. Pontellier “scanned the names” and leaves to “get my dinner at the club” to Edna who “finished her dinner alone”, the shift from dialogue to interior focus, slower pacing and repeated actions (“walk to and fro”, “flung”) and darker mood (“voices… jeered”) isolate her. The focus then narrows to symbols—the “wedding ring” and broken vase—before the maid’s “here’s your ring” and Edna “slipped it upon her finger”, a circular ending that undercuts her rebellion and structurally reinforces her social isolation.

One way the writer structures alienation is by foregrounding Mr. Pontellier’s public world through a catalogue of callers. As he lists names and makes social judgements, Edna merely “fuming,” the opening focus privileges his voice and marginalises her at home. A swift structural shift—his exit “to get [his] dinner at the club”—then isolates her physically.

In addition, a temporal shift broadens that isolation into a pattern. The retrospective summary (“She was somewhat familiar with such scenes…”) shows this is iterative, not a one-off. The focus then narrows, via a change of setting, to her room and the night garden; a descriptive pause slows the pace, and the mood turns oppressive as the “voices” of the night “jeer.” The sustained focus on Edna’s inner responses heightens her sense of being cut off.

A further structural feature is escalation via a sequence of small actions. The narrative zooms in on pacing, tearing a handkerchief, removing and stamping on the ring, then smashing a vase. This rising action turns alienation into revolt. However, the maid’s interruption reverses it: under another’s gaze the ring is replaced, a near-cyclical return that stresses inescapability.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 answer might note that alienation builds as the focus shifts from the husband’s public world to Edna’s private isolation: he "scanned the names" and says "I’m going to get my dinner at the club", then she "finished her dinner alone", pacing "to and fro" and "flung" the "wedding ring". The ending where she "slipped it upon her finger" shows a return to normal, so the change in mood from anger to resignation makes her seem even more cut off.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create a sense of alienation is by moving from a busy domestic opening to Edna being left on her own. At the start Mr Pontellier lists callers and criticises dinner, then he leaves “to get my dinner at the club”, shifting the focus and isolating her at the table.

In addition, a short flashback — “She was somewhat familiar with such scenes” — shows this pattern has happened before, so her loneliness feels constant. After that, the pace slows as she “finished her dinner alone” and goes to her room, zooming in on her private, separate world.

A further feature is a build-up to a small climax with the ring and the vase. The mood changes from quiet to violent actions (“flung”, “crash”), but the ending is quieter when the maid enters and she “slipped” the ring back on, showing she is still trapped and apart.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: First the husband leaves to 'get my dinner at the club', then Edna 'finished her dinner alone' and is 'indisposed', so it goes from being together to being by herself. Later she is shown to 'walk to and fro', 'flung it upon the carpet', and then 'slipped it upon her finger', which makes her seem even more alienated and stuck.

One way the writer uses structure is the opening focus on Mr. Pontellier’s list of visitors. This beginning uses dialogue and a list to push Edna aside, making her feel left out.

In addition, the focus then shifts to Edna alone. The pace slows as she “finished her dinner alone.” This change in focus and setting makes the alienation stronger.

A further structural feature is the ending. There is a climax (throwing the ring, smashing a vase), but she finally “slipped it upon her finger,” showing she is still alone.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Opening list of callers and Mr. Pontellier’s running commentary foregrounds society over Edna, sidelining her from the outset (scanned the names)
• Dialogue is dominated by his directives, structurally marginalising Edna’s agency and reinforcing her social isolation (You’d better write)
• Escalating mealtime complaints build tension that isolates Edna within her own home and marriage (The fish was scorched)
• A clear turning point occurs when he exits, creating physical separation that crystallises her solitude (left the house)
• Brief retrospective summary generalises the scene into a pattern, showing habitual, entrenched alienation (familiar with such scenes)
• Edna’s deliberate choice to remain apart intensifies isolation, as she eats and then shuts out callers (finished her dinner alone)
• Shift to a solitary bedroom and nocturnal setting contrasts beauty with bleak inner response, deepening estrangement (devoid even of hope)
• Accelerating, repetitive movement and destructive gestures structurally mirror mounting inner disconnection (to and fro)
• The failed attempt to damage the ring fixes her in place, symbolising inescapable bonds and deepening alienation (not a mark)
• Climactic smash is followed by a reset: the maid returns the symbol and Edna restores it, closing the arc in entrapment (slipped it upon her finger)

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 Edna fails to break her wedding ring, her violent anger seems powerless. The writer suggests that her marriage is an unbreakable trap that she cannot escape from.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Edna's angry outburst and her powerlessness
• comment on the methods the writer uses to suggest her marriage is an unbreakable trap
• 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: To a large extent, a Level 4 response would evaluate that the writer frames Edna’s fury as impotent and her marriage as an unbreakable trap through symbolism and structure: she "stamped her heel" yet left "not a mark" on the "little glittering circlet", the violence displaced to the "glass vase" whose "crash and clatter" are mere noise, before the maid’s intrusion and the circular close as she "slipped it upon her finger". It might acknowledge a flicker of agency in "eyes flamed" and moments of self-discovery in "sweet, half-darkness", but read the voices that "jeered" and were "devoid even of hope" as sealing the writer’s bleak viewpoint.

I largely agree with the statement: in this section, the writer renders Edna’s fury theatrically violent yet ultimately ineffectual, and uses symbolism and structural contrast to figure marriage as a constricting loop she cannot yet loosen. The dinner scene establishes the power imbalance through dialogue and tone. Mr. Pontellier’s exacting critique of “the fish” and “the roast” shifts quickly to a moral judgement—“retain his self-respect”—which frames domestic service as a metric of his status. His analogy about “clerks in my office” positions Edna and the servants as a “class of persons” to be “looked after,” foregrounding a patronising, managerial marriage. Against this, Edna’s “indifferently” signals muted resistance. Yet the retrospective summary of her previous responses—study of the “cookbook,” a week’s “menu,” and the admission she had “accomplished no good that was worth the name”—creates a structural pattern of futility that prefigures the ring episode.

Alone in her “large, beautiful room,” the sensuous setting initially appears liberating, but the imagery turns ambivalent. The “soft, dim light” and the “deep tangle” with “tortuous outlines” connote enticement and entrapment at once; the “open window” is a threshold, yet what meets her are personified “voices” that “jeered” and were “devoid even of hope.” Through internal focalisation, the narrator amplifies Edna’s “inward fire”—her “eyes flamed”—but the kinetic repetition (“without stopping, without resting”) and the trivial destruction of the “thin handkerchief” “torn into ribbons” suggest a restless energy with no effective outlet. The writer’s auditory imagery, too, anticipates a craving for impact that will not translate into change.

The ring scene crystallises this. Lexis and symbolism do the heavy lifting: the “little glittering circlet” is both alluring and inescapably circular. Edna “flung it” and “stamped her heel,” but her “small boot heel did not make an indenture,” the tactile detail underscoring the metal’s implacability and, by extension, the institution’s durability. The structural juxtaposition with the vase is telling: she “seized a glass vase” and the “crash and clatter were what she wanted to hear.” The fragile ornament shatters; the marriage-token does not. The maid’s intervention functions as social surveillance and restoration of norms—“here’s your ring, ma’am”—and the cyclical structure completes as Edna “slipped it upon her finger.”

Overall, to a great extent the writer presents Edna’s violent anger as powerless and her marriage as an unbreakable trap—at least in this moment. Yet the lexicon of “seeking herself” and the liminal “open window” intimates a nascent self-awareness. For now, however, the glittering circle reasserts itself, and her outburst resolves into noise rather than change.

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 mostly agree, clearly explaining that while Edna’s fury is evident in In a sweeping passion and The crash and clatter were what she wanted to hear, it proves powerless when she stamped her heel yet did not make an indenture on the little glittering circlet. It would identify the writer’s use of symbolism and contrast (breakable vase vs. unmarked ring) to argue marriage is an unbreakable trap, noting she slipped it upon her finger and the mood is devoid even of hope.

I largely agree that Edna’s attempts to express violent anger are shown as powerless, and the writer presents marriage as an unbreakable trap. Here the focus is on Edna alone: after finishing dinner “with forced deliberation”, her “face… flushed” and “eyes flamed with some inward fire”. This suggests agency, yet the setting undercuts it. The “large, beautiful room” in “soft, dim light” feels like a gilded cage, and the view of the garden as a “deep tangle” with “tortuous outlines” is symbolic of entanglement; personified “voices” that “jeered” and were “devoid even of hope” imply enclosure.

As agitation grows, dynamic verbs—she “tore… rolled… flung”—and pacing “to and fro… without stopping” create restlessness that goes nowhere, reinforcing powerlessness.

The ring scene is the clearest symbolism. Edna “flung” the wedding ring and “stamped her heel upon it, striving to crush it”, but “her small boot heel did not make an indenture, not a mark upon the little glittering circlet”. The diminutive “little” and the circular “circlet” connote a pretty, closed loop, while the negation “not a mark” emphasises futility. By contrast, the “crash and clatter” when she shatters a vase shows she can break decor, not the emblem of marriage. Structurally, the cycle completes as the maid finds it—“here’s your ring, ma’am”—and Edna “slipped it upon her finger”: social pressure restores the bond.

I agree the writer presents Edna’s anger as ineffectual and her marriage as an inescapable trap; however, the “inward fire” hints at a latent resistance that, for now, cannot break the ring.

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 that the writer presents Edna’s anger as powerless and her marriage as a trap, with a simple point that the wedding ring symbolizes this. She “stamped her heel upon it” but it “did not make an indenture,” and she finally “slipped it upon her finger,” so even though she “wanted to destroy something” she cannot break free.

I mostly agree with the statement. In the second half of the extract, the writer shows Edna’s anger building, but when she tries to damage the symbol of her marriage, nothing changes. Her outburst feels loud but useless, so her marriage seems like a trap.

First, her mood is presented as intense but frustrated. Her face is “flushed” and her eyes “flamed” (fiery imagery), yet the night “voices… jeered” at her. This personification makes it feel hopeless. She paces “to and fro… without resting,” showing restlessness. Even in a “large, beautiful room,” she cannot settle.

The ring is a clear symbol. She “flung it” and “stamped her heel”—strong verbs that show violent anger—but “her small boot heel did not make an indenture.” The “little glittering circlet” stays perfect; its circular shape suggests something unending. By contrast she only breaks fragile things: the “thin handkerchief” and the “glass vase.” The “crash and clatter” give loud release, but it is just noise, not change.

Finally, the structure returns her to the same position when the maid finds the ring and Edna “slipped it upon her finger.” This quiet action after the outburst supports the idea that her rage is powerless. Overall, I agree the writer shows marriage as an unbreakable trap here.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: Simple agreement that the writer shows marriage as an unbreakable trap, noting that Edna "stamped her heel upon it" but it "did not make an indenture", and she "slipped it upon her finger" again.

I mostly agree with the statement. In this part, the writer shows Edna’s violent anger but also how weak it is against her marriage. At the start, her “face was flushed” and her “eyes flamed,” which suggests strong emotions. The verbs “walk… without stopping” and “tore” her handkerchief show her building rage.

When she “taking off her wedding ring, flung it upon the carpet,” the ring becomes a symbol of the marriage. She “stamped her heel upon it,” but “did not make an indenture… upon the little glittering circlet.” This makes the ring seem unbreakable, and her anger powerless. The adjective “glittering” makes it seem fixed and hard.

There is a simple contrast when she “seized a glass vase… and flung it” so it smashes with “crash and clatter.” She can break the vase, but not the ring, which suggests a trap. The night “jeered” and sounded “without promise,” which creates a hopeless mood.

Finally, the maid finds the ring and Edna “slipped it upon her finger.” This shows she cannot escape. Overall, I agree that the writer suggests her marriage is an unbreakable trap and her anger changes nothing.

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:

• Symbolism of the unmarked ring → marriage appears unbreakable; her anger is rendered powerless (not a mark)
• Contrast of fragile vase vs enduring ring → she can shatter objects but not the bond; destruction makes noise, not change (crash and clatter)
• Pattern of repeated domestic conflicts and failed corrective efforts → cyclical entrapment; trying to “fix” things only defeats her (no good)
• Husband’s effortless exit to the club → his freedom highlights her containment, intensifying the sense of an inescapable bind (left the house)
• Oppressive setting/voices → the world echoes hopelessness, deepening the impression that escape is impossible (devoid even of hope)
• Restless pacing without destination → movement without progress conveys stasis inside constraining expectations (to and fro)
• Social enforcement via the maid returning the symbol → norms restore the status quo; her quiet compliance signals resignation (slipped it upon her finger)
• Violent verbs for her outburst → intensity provides catharsis yet achieves nothing against the marital constraint (wanted to destroy something)
• Glimpses of constrained agency → finishing dinner and setting boundaries show will, but it is strained rather than liberating (forced deliberation)
• Entangling garden imagery → visual metaphor of confinement suggests the marriage is knotted and intractable (deep tangle)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

Your local wildlife trust is running a creative writing week and invites short entries from students.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe an urban fox moving through back gardens from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a strange footprint that changes everything.

(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:

The fox unthreads itself from the hedge, a rust-burnished filament loosened from the city’s hem. Low to the soil, belly combing damp grass, it slides under a knotted panel where dogs have worried a gap; the fence grates a splinter along its spine. Breath ghosts before its muzzle; ears tilt and calibrate: a siren far off, the ticking of a boiler. Its eyes hold the sodium glare and give it back, two coins, cold and clever.

Back gardens unfurl in narrow chapters—nettle, washing line, trampoline—the private afterthoughts of a street stitched together by fences. A mosaic of smells—stale beer, hot metal, last night’s curry, a faint ribbon of compost—and the fox reads them fluently, nose writing cursive in the air. Somewhere, a cat’s skitter of claws; somewhere, the lull of television applause; a moth powders itself against a bulb and fails. The city breathes out; the animal breathes in.

It advances in increments: stop; listen. A paw placed like a bracket between two paving stones; a shoulder folding; a flourish of brush, dusting dew from the dandelions. It is patient, as though marking questions on a paper only it understands. When it jumps, it does so without drama—one breath, one muscular comma—and lands on the slack skin of a trampoline that murmurs and stills. For a moment the fox becomes a child’s thought of flight. Then the springs quieten and it is simply a body again, precise, particular.

A lid left ajar becomes invitation: the green bin, rank and generous. It noses, inquisitive; a plastic cluck, a tilt too far, and moonlight riffles a small avalanche—peels, a bruised apple, crumpled foil—across the slabs. The fox freezes; light explodes—sensor, sudden, surgical—and the lawn is bleached. At once, everything amplifies: its own tongue rasping; a neighbour’s cough; a dog’s bark detonating through the terrace. One heartbeat, two, three. Flight.

He slips under a trellis, threads the black lace of a blackberry cane, and slides through the gap where the fence has surrendered to rot. Over a child’s plastic robot, past the shut eye of a garden gnome, he follows the drip of a hose—an obstacle course of the ordinary. On a windowsill, a mug grows a skin; trainers remember feet. The fox, not sentimental, moves on; he is a metronome of survival, counting beats across the dark.

At the last garden, a laurel holds a vestibule of shadow. The fox pauses, head lifted, tasting the world: frost; fox; fatigue. His tail, a pennant, a question mark, flares and disappears. Leaves knit behind him; the fence settles. The sensor clicks off. The night resumes its patient rhythm, backwards and forwards, as though nothing red and quick had ever stitched itself through the backyards at all.

Option B:

Dawn. The hour when the river held its breath; when roofs wore beads of dew like faint crowns; when the road, usually impatient, unspooled in a hush so complete you could hear your own certainty tremble. Or something like that—because that morning certainty packed its bags and walked out before breakfast.

As kettles muttered in distant kitchens and a solitary gull drew pale loops over the estuary, Maya stepped onto the back step with the bin bag and stopped. Cold bit her fingertips; her breath braided and broke in the air. At the bottom of the garden, where the grass sloped towards the flattened bed of last year’s pumpkins, the lawn was pressed—no, sculpted—into a shape that did not belong.

She set the bag down; it sighed against the slab. She walked, not breathing properly now, and the robin stuttered from fence post to fence post as if escorting her and objecting at once. It was a footprint. It had to be. Yet it looked nothing like the neat ovals the dog left behind when it charged for the gate or the clumsy, booted dents her brother stamped on snow. This was an imprint of intention.

It was wrong in every way: too long, too deep; too symmetrical in a way that made her think of machines; edges so clean the frost had been scored rather than crushed. The heel sat like a crater; the arch was a swoop—a concavity a hand might cradle—while at the front, not five toes but four, splayed and tapering, each pad ridged with a filigree of lines, a cartography precise as fingerprints. Dew pooled and glinted there; the water in the grooves seemed to shiver.

Maya crouched, feeling her knee dampen against the grass. Against all sense, the impression was warm. Her hand hovered over it and found a breath of heat rising, faint as an exhale. She recoiled, then leaned in again. How do you explain warmth in frozen grass at seven fifteen on a Tuesday? You don’t—unless you admit that something with weight and heat and intention stood in your garden while you slept.

“Bin!” her mother called, clattering cups. “Maya?”

“I’m coming,” she managed, but the word came out smaller than she wanted. Fig, the neighbour’s terrier, pressed himself flat at the gate, eyes dilated; he would not step closer. The world around the print behaved like a theatre crowd—drawn and hushed, expectant, on the brink.

She took her phone out; her thumb hovered; she framed it. A click, then another, then—because she was sixteen and it felt like the only way to make anything real—a post. It was careless, perhaps, to tell the world before the house, but the world is greedy. By the time her mother slid open the patio door, her screen had already bloomed with dots and demands: Where? Real? omg.

None of this should have mattered so much. But in that precise, improbable stamp in the lawn, the old stories her father parcelled out at bedtime—the giant under the bridge, the “river-walker” his own grandmother swore she saw—stopped being stories. The boundary between the town and the tales thinned.

Sirens stitched a distant line through the quiet. Somewhere, a car door slammed. Maya reached out, absurdly, to touch the edge; it crumbled between her fingers like sugar. And then—in front of her, not a metre away—the grass bowed again, pressed by air that had weight. A second print began to form, slow, deliberate; she watched the frost collapse and the dew beads skitter aside, her heart hammering in her chest, the morning unspooling into something else entirely. Everything, obedient until now, took a step.

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

Option A:

The gardens lie like a patched quilt behind the terraces, each square stitched to the next. Between fence slats and shadow, the fox appears—russet, narrow, deliberate—and slips under a bowed panel chewed to a slot. The city exhales: a siren sighs, a fridge hums, a train passes like little thunder. He inhales what the houses have discarded—the dark fug of bin lids, onion skins and cold fried fat—and the sharper green of crushed rosemary.

His body is a clever instrument; it folds and unfolds, a hinge of muscle. Pads spread on cold slabs, collecting the night’s thin damp. He threads past washing lines, over a toy truck abandoned at the lawn’s edge. The trampoline keeps the moon and tosses it back; dew beads tremble at each spring’s complaint. A wooden gate yields its pale gap; he pours through.

Light shatters behind him. A security lamp, tripped by air, bursts the garden into noon; he freezes—statue, then breath. His eyes catch the glare and turn it into coins. A blackbird winds an alarm. On the porch roof, a cat watches with practised disdain (they have studied one another too many nights). A quiet detente: he bows; it blinks; the light relents. Who owns this ordinary theatre?

A bag beside the bin has split; from that small mouth he finds crumbs: rice sticky with last night’s spice, a crisp’s salt-edged shard. He noses gently, intent. The garden tells on its owners—herbs bruised by feet; chalk dust on the path; somewhere a radio murmurs the late forecast. Mint offers cold sweetness; the compost heap steams faintly. He is archivist and scavenger, writing in the palimpsest of soil with careful feet.

Fence to fence, he keeps to the seam of shadow, stitching the night while the houses sleep. Hazards—rake teeth, glass, the slick surprise of a slug—are skirted with that odd dignity foxes wear. Toward the alley, the moon is a tarnished coin on an aerial; dawn loosens its first thread. He is almost gone—tail a dull flame, breath thin and white. He will return—over the fence, under the fence, over the fence—because hunger remembers the way.

Option B:

Morning arrived thin and silver, dragging the last of the storm behind it; the field behind our terrace steamed as if the earth itself were breathing. The smell of rain—metallic, clean, insistent—hung low, and every blade of grass wore a trembling bead. Sunday was supposed to be uncomplicated: a jog before anyone woke, a mug of tea cooling on the step, a list of chores I’d ignore until noon.

I cut across the football pitch to save time. The floodlights, still yawning amber from the night, hummed faintly; my breath ribboned away into the pale light. I was counting my steps—twenty to the halfway line, four to the painted circle—when the numbers snagged in my throat.

It was a footprint. Or something trying to be.

Not a trainer. Not a hoof. Not a paw. The print was too deep for this soft ground, pressed down as if by a body that knew weight; its edges were clean, almost serrated, and within the basin a skin of water quivered. Four toes splayed forward, longer than fingers and jointed with tiny crescents. In the centre, etched into the mud, a spiral—delicate as a fern and so precise it looked carved.

I took a step back, then forward again, afraid the vision would unclench and turn into a trick of light. The grass around it was singed a shade paler, like breath has frosted it; a faint, resinous scent swam up—pine, ash, something older. I crouched and felt the ground: warm. Not lukewarm from the sun (the sun was barely awake), but a low thrum, as if a wire beneath the field hummed.

What could make a mark like that?

Dad used to say the ground tells you stories if you’re patient—fox paths like signatures, boot treads like accents. “Read the earth,” he’d murmur, pressing my hand to the soil. “It remembers.” He didn’t say what to do when the earth remembered something you couldn’t even name.

There were more. A second, five paces on, angled differently, as if it had paused to listen. Then another. They cut a precise line across the pitch, skipping the goalmouth as neatly as a child avoiding cracks. The distance between each print was wrong; too far for a walk, too measured for a run.

I followed. Of course I did. Mud gathered around my ankles; the wind lifted my hair and laid it down again. The prints led towards the estate, not away from it, threading past the bin sheds and the crooked plum tree that never fruited. They did not falter. They did not hurry.

They stopped at our back step.

Not faded, not blurred by too many feet; the last print was placed squarely on the doormat, pressing its spiral into the letters of HOME as if rewriting them. In its shallow pool lay a small, familiar thing: a brass key ring in the shape of a lighthouse, flaked with salt, the one we thought we’d lost last winter when Dad left before dawn.

The kettle inside clicked as it reached the boil. My mother’s shadow moved across the kitchen. Between the hum of the floodlights and the whisper of rain returning, the field seemed to wait.

Afterwards, people would say it had only been a footprint. Afterwards, I would understand how wrong that sentence is.

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

Option A:

Twilight pads along the terrace; the light is thin and forgiving. From the shadow of a cracked panel the fox slides into a back garden, a lick of burnt-orange moving like poured smoke. Its eyes are small lamps, its nose stitching the air with tidy, practised pulls. Smells bloom: leaf-mould and detergent, yesterday’s curry, wet soil, the sourness of bins. The grass is slick, snail-trails silvering it; somewhere a washing machine thrums. A train drags a hush over the roofs; above a trampoline a moth circles the bare bulb. The gardens seem to lean in and listen.

It keeps low under laurel, paws hardly whispering. The tail holds level like a careful brush. Over a plastic truck it places itself; each step is deliberate, as if the lawn might crack. At the fence there is a gap where the panel buckled—wire teeth and damp earth. The fox tests it with whiskers, then head. A light coughs on next door; it freezes. Footsteps: a door clicks, a voice swirls, fades. The light dies. With a soft shudder, the fox pours through.

It knows this patchwork. Fences stitched with nails and ivy; sheds that sag; bins lined in a row like dull soldiers. It knows the dog that rattles but cannot reach, the cat that watches and will not move, the compost heap that steams in winter. Meanwhile, slugs gleam on paving like wax. It noses a foil tray, sharp edges bright; the smell is noisy with salt and fat. Lids have been clamped; someone learned. The fox nudges, gives up—then finds a chicken bone where the grass ends and the earth begins. Crunch. The night folds again.

Over, under, through—this is its grammar. A garden with washing that smells of sunlight; a garden with nettles around a broken chair; a garden with a bicycle upside down, its wheels shivering. Sirens drag a lazy ribbon along the road; a bus sighs at the stop. The fox pauses on a low wall, ears pricked, fur lit by street-glow. For a second it is statue-still, a shadow with a heartbeat. Then, in a last narrow seam under the final fence, it lowers its head and unthreads itself. Night swallows the tail.

Option B:

Dawn. The tide had slipped back, leaving wrinkled mud shining under a pale sky; ropes dripped; boats tilted like dozing animals. The harbour breathed out salt. I took the long way to the bakery because the air felt freshly laundered, because I liked the quiet before shutters rolled and kettles shrieked.

I almost missed it. The shape lay halfway between the last step and the porous skin of the shore: a single imprint, precise as if cut with a blade. It was not a dog’s paw—I’ve known every dog in town since I could reach their collars. It was not a boot either; there were toes, six of them, arranged like shells, and a heel that narrowed to a point. The mud beneath was darker, seared rather than squashed, and when I leaned closer (careless) a faint heat breathed up at me.

At first I laughed, because what else can you do when the ground offers you a riddle. A prank, I thought. Someone with too much time and a 3D printer. Then the gulls stopped bickering and perched in a row, like commas, and the wind that usually heckled the flags decided to be still. I put my hand just over the print again and felt that tiny hum—like the fridge at home when you are awake enough to hear it.

It was facing inland. That, more than the extra toe, made my skin fizz. Whatever had made it had come out of the sea and walked towards our houses—towards the bakery’s warm windows, towards Mrs Khalid’s tabby, towards my own street with its uneven paving and its ordinary Tuesday. The second print was three paving stones away, cleaner, deeper. The third cut into the moss by the wall and left a small, glittering residue, the colour of ground-up shells.

Later, people would say it was a hoax; they would say it was algae; they would say it was hysteria. By lunchtime there would be tape, and rumours, and my phone would not stop vibrating. But then, at dawn, I chose something simple: I decided to follow.

I stepped where it had stepped and felt the heat climb into my bones.

Because sometimes a small mark in the mud is not small at all. It is an instruction. It is the start.

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

Option A:

Under the crooked edge of a fence panel, a fox slides like a spill of rust. Moonlight salts his shoulders; his tail draws a faint question mark in damp soil. He pauses, tasting midnight: compost, washing powder, the sweet reek of bin lids. The estate holds its breath.

He threads past a tilted trampoline and a scarred plastic car, their wheels beaded with dew. Pegs bite a sagging line like tiny teeth; somewhere a fridge hums through a thin wall. The fox’s coat is mottled, city-coloured—ginger dulled by grit. His eyes catch the streetlight, two coins briefly bright, and he flattens to the grass. Pad, pad. He maps each stone, soft pads leaving crescents.

A security light blinks on. He freezes, ribcage lifting once, twice. The garden becomes a stage, pale and too clean. A dog barks three doors down, and the fox melts backwards under a bush threaded with candy wrappers. His breath fogs; the air smells of last night’s curry and wet wood. There is the rattle of a chain-link fence, a slick slide, and he’s in the next square of dark.

Here the bin store waits like a low fort. Lids are misaligned; something edible must be there. He noses, patient but determined, tugging a greasy paper until it gives. The taste is sharp with salt. He chews and listens—sirens smear the distance, a train sighs over a bridge, someone laughs and then stops. When he has had enough, he lifts, nimble again, clearing a broken planter in one clean jump.

Dawn thins the sky to a grey ribbon. The fox works the final garden: tulips like fists, a birdbath shivering with ice. He steps between the beds and under the last panel, where nettles guard a narrow alley. For a second he looks back at neat lawns. Then he goes, vanishing into the city’s seams, leaving only two lines of prints.

Option B:

It rained in the night, the kind of steady rain that polishes the street and leaves the bins shining. By morning the estate smelled of damp leaves and the faint metallic scent you get when clouds rub against the roofs. Nothing dramatic happens on Birch Close; the buses sigh by and Mrs Howe waters her plastic ferns. That day began the same, until I opened the back door.

The footprint sat in the square of mud just beyond the step, where the rain had made the soil smooth as chocolate icing. It wasn't my dad's, or any trainer I knew. The heel was a deep crescent; the front was fanned into four leaves, each edged with cuts, like a crown pressed into the earth. What kind of foot leaves a crown behind? I crouched. Steam seemed to whisper from it—no, probably just my breath—but the print glistened as if it had its own light.

Tom called from the hallway, asking for his keys. I couldn't answer straight away: my mouth had gone dry, as though the footprint had sucked all the water out of the air. I touched the edge with a stick; the stick sizzled in my head, though it made no sound, and I pulled back. The depth of it was wrong. Whatever made it was heavy, deliberate, and it had stepped right up to our door and paused.

I called Tom then. He swore, but softly, as if the thing might hear. "Don't touch it," he whispered. We stood with our socks getting wet, both of us staring; in that staring was a quiet agreement that our day had tilted. A crow hopped along the fence and cocked its head. Somewhere, a bus clattered over the bridge, ordinary life still ringing; we were on a separate frequency. I didn't know how a print could change everything, only that it already had.

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

Option A:

The back gardens are stitched together by fences and hedges, a quilt of grass, slabs and small secrets. The fox slides under a panel loosened by rain; a ginger flicker with bright coin eyes. The city breathes beyond the line of houses, and streetlights press a thin glow over washing lines and plastic chairs. Bins lean like tired soldiers. Wet earth and old food thicken the air. He pauses, listening.

He moves like smoke, easy and careful. Paws sink into mud, then step to a patio cold as a sink. He wants one thing: food. A rustle in the compost, a wrapper folded under the swing, crumbs like tiny stars. He is wary; he is quick. Over, under, through the rails—he repeats the path as if it is a song he knows. His tail brushes a rusty bucket, it rattles, he freezes.

A harsh security light snaps on. The fox flattens, thin as a shadow, and the garden trembles with a dog’s muffled growl. He breathes the close air, which tastes sour and metalic. He waits—counting the seconds in the twitch of his ears—then tilts forward, soft-soft, slipping behind a laurel where the light can’t bite. A cat watches from a shed roof, eyes fixed on him.

Then he is gone. He pushes under the last panel, stretches it's neck to sniff the alleyway that runs like a narrow river, and he is away towards the bins behind the take-away. The city hums; the gardens settle, and the little square of dark grass looks empty, ordinary, still.

Option B:

Dawn. The time the village stretched and yawned; pale light over slate roofs, puddles reflecting a thin strip of sky. Nothing special, nothing different. Looking back now, it's almost funny how normal it was, because that was the last normal morning for ages.

I dragged the wheelie bin, and the dog nosed ahead. I saw it printed in the mud by the broken drain: a footprint. Not shoe, not boot. It was wrong: too long, too narrow, the heel shallow and the toes—five? six?—ridged like grooves on old coins. Water pooled inside it, trembling, as if the ground had kept a breath. I crouched, my breath making fog. It wasn't Dad's. It wasn't a deer; it wasn't a fox. It looked almost careful, like whoever made it had placed it there on purpose.

I reached out and touched the edge and the mud felt warm. Warm like a hand had just lifted. The dog backed away, whined, the birds on the telegraph wire went quiet all together. I should have walked away—I should of—but something held me, a thin thread of curiousity tugging. Then, from the far hedge, I heard a step answer my thought; a second impression pressed into the earth, right infront of me, slow and sure. My name formed on my lips and wouldn't come out.

After that, everything tilted; streets, lessons, the way people looked at me. Because once you know the ground can remember you, you can't step the same again.

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

Option A:

It slips along the back fence like a burnt shadow, fur the colour of old copper. A streetlamp spills weak light over slabs and pots; the fox pauses, nose twitching, steam drifting from its mouth. The grass is slick with night. Somewhere, a siren sighs. He pads, he pauses, he listens.

On the first lawn a small pink scooter lies on its side, shirts hang like pale flags, and a black bin smells of take-away and peel. He noses the lid, decides no, and threads between chair legs. The fence at the end is bowed and splintered. He crouches, slides under, belly brushing the cold earth—then stands up on the other side, ears strict and bright. He freezes, the neighbour coughs. The light clicks on.

Next garden: softer, with herbs, rosemary scratching his ankles and giving out a clean scent. A cat statue pretends to sleep. He moves smooth and careful; almost like liquid rust, slipping through the city’s seams. Somewhere a dog barks behind glass, its bark heavy. Over the low wall, under a broken panel, over and under.

At the alley he checks the air and looks back, eyes two little coins. The darkness lets him in. Then he is gone.

Option B:

The morning after the rain, the lane behind our house smelt like wet earth and old coins. Usually I kick stones and race the stream by the kerb. Today something stopped me: a footprint. It was pressed into the mud, deep and wrong; not a dog, not a boot, not a deer. The shape was narrow and the toes were spread like a hand.

At first, I laughed. Someone was messing around. Then I crouched down. I touched the edge with one finger; it felt smooth, almost frozen. There was a faint shine in the grooves, like tiny glass. Five pits showed at the front, and a small dent sat behind, as if it had two heels. Curiosity tugged me closer; I set my trainer beside it. What kind of foot makes that?

I lifted my phone to take a picture - the screen flickered, then froze. Mum called from the kitchen window, "Don't be late!" When she saw what I was staring at, her smile dropped. She whispered, "Not again". After that, the lane didn't feel like our lane; the morning wasn't just a morning anymore. It looked like a story, it felt like a warning, and everything had shifted a little, definately.

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

Option A:

The fox comes late in the cold dark and it is thin and orange. Its fur looks rough, like a small fire that is tired. It slides by the bins and the broken chair, ears up. There is the wet smell of grass and old food. Cars hiss far away, the city buzz is low.

It squeezes under the fence, belly flat, the wood has a hole. A scrape. It dont make a sound, or it tries not to, and the tail drags a bit and leaves a line.

In the next garden there is washing, a blue shirt moves like a flag. Toys are left out and a swing. The fox looks, it stops, it looks again, then quick feet. Step by step by step. Over a paving stone, past a pot, over again.

Its eyes are like coins in the dark. It listens, it sniffs, it goes.

Then it is gone, like a shadow.

Option B:

Morning. Grey sky. Puddles in the lane.

By the old gate I seen it. A footprint in the brown mud. It was huge, big as a dinner plate, deeper than my boot. The edges was sharp and the middle had little lines, like a hand but not a hand. It weren't a shoe. Not a dog. Not a cow!

I put my hand next to it and my hand looked tiny. I stared and stared. Who made this? Where did it go

I looked up and the prints went over the field and to the trees, step after step, like they wanted me to follow. I wanted to run but I didn't because it felt like it was calling me or something

My breath came fast and white. The birds stopped. The day felt different. It changed everything, and after that nothing felt the same.

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

Option A:

the fox is orange, it goes under a fence, nose down. It is quiet but the bins are loud. The grass is wet and it steps soft, soft. It looks at me from the window. I think it is hungry, I remember my shoes by the door. The gardens are small, the washing lines hang and move, it moves too. A cat hiss and then nothing; the fox keep going. It slips by a shed, like a shadow, paint flaking. There is a smell like food in the air. Sirens far away and the moon, then it dont stop, it squeezes through a gap

Option B:

Morning. The ground was wet and cold I was late for school and the bus was gone and my shoe was muddy. Then I seen it in the path, a strange footprint, big and deep, like a giant foot. It had long toes, like claws. I put my hand next to it and it was bigger, bigger. The wind was quiet. I felt funny in my chest. I dont move. After that everythink changed, the dog would not stop, Mum was shouting, we was not going to stay. I think it was watching us. or maybe it was me.