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 Myra make out?: the party ahead – 1 mark
• 1.2 Who did Myra have an instant vision of?: her mother – 1 mark
• 1.3 What did Myra glance into?: the eyes beside – 1 mark
• 1.4 What instruction does Myra give to Richard?: Turn into a side road and go straight on. – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

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

1 Myra made out the party ahead, had an instant vision of her mother, and then—alas for convention—glanced into the eyes beside. “Turn down this side street, Richard, and drive straight

6 to the Minnehaha Club!” she cried through the speaking tube. Amory sank back against the cushions with a sigh of relief.

11 “I can kiss her,” he thought. “I’ll bet I can. I’ll bet I can!” Overhead the sky was half crystalline, half misty, and the night around was chill and vibrant with rich tension. From the Country

How does the writer use language here to present Amory’s anticipation and the atmosphere of the night? 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: The writer conveys Amory’s anticipation through staccato internal monologue and emphatic repetition/exclamatives — “I can kiss her”, “I’ll bet I can. I’ll bet I can!” — and a physical release in “sank back … with a sigh of relief,” while Myra’s imperative “Turn down this side street” and the ironic aside “—alas for convention—” create a conspiratorial urgency. Meanwhile, the balanced imagery of “half crystalline, half misty” and the near-personification in “the night … chill and vibrant with rich tension” craft an electric, ambivalent atmosphere that mirrors and intensifies Amory’s charged expectancy.

The writer foregrounds Amory’s anticipation through interior monologue and emphatic repetition. His thought, “I can kiss her,” swells into the epizeuxis “I’ll bet I can. I’ll bet I can!” The insistence and exclamatives dramatise a surge of confidence, while the gambling verb “bet” connotes risk and exhilaration, desire sharpened by danger. Just before, he “sank back against the cushions with a sigh of relief”: the soft sibilance in “sank… cushions… sigh” hints at tension released and immediately transmuted into expectancy.

Furthermore, sentence form and narrative asides heighten the sense of illicit opportunity. Myra’s imperatives, “Turn down this side street… drive straight to the Minnehaha Club!”, and the dynamic “cried” create urgency and purposeful secrecy. The parenthetical aside “—alas for convention—” is a wry intrusion that names and dismisses social rules; this playful defiance intensifies Amory’s thrill. Likewise, the synecdoche in “glanced into the eyes beside” narrows focus to intimacy, and the preposition “beside” compresses space, aligning with his longing.

Moreover, the night’s atmosphere mirrors his inner state through antithesis, personification and subtle pathetic fallacy. The sky is “half crystalline, half misty”: this visual juxtaposition fashions a liminal, in‑between quality, as if the world itself holds its breath. The night is “chill and vibrant with rich tension”—a striking oxymoron where tactile “chill” meets energetic “vibrant.” By attributing “rich tension” to the air, the writer personifies the night as charged and resonant, so the setting seems to hum with the same expectancy that animates Amory.

Therefore, the language entwines his anticipation with a taut, electric night.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: - The writer presents Amory’s anticipation through internal monologue and emphatic repetition, as "I can kiss her" becomes "I'll bet I can. I'll bet I can!", where italics, exclamation marks and short, punchy thoughts heighten his excitement after a "sigh of relief."

• The atmosphere is made tense and vivid by urgent imperatives in dialogue ("Turn down this side street", "drive straight") and contrasting imagery—"half crystalline, half misty", "chill and vibrant with rich tension"—which balances clarity and uncertainty to create an electric night mood.

The writer conveys Amory’s anticipation through interior monologue and repetition. Amory’s thought “I can kiss her,” followed by “I’ll bet I can. I’ll bet I can!” uses the repeated modal phrase to show growing certainty and obsessive excitement; the exclamative punctuation and short, simple clauses quicken the rhythm, mirroring his racing thoughts and building his anticipation. The italicised bet adds emphasis, revealing his fixed focus on the moment to come.

Furthermore, description builds an electric atmosphere. The juxtaposition “the sky was half crystalline, half misty” sets clarity against obscurity, suggesting a night poised between promise and secrecy. Personification in “the night… was chill and vibrant with rich tension” makes the darkness feel alive, as if the air itself hums; the tactile adjective “chill” and the evaluative noun phrase “rich tension” create sensory imagery that surrounds the characters and heightens suspense.

Additionally, dialogue and sentence forms heighten anticipation. Myra’s imperatives, “Turn down this side street… and drive straight,” inject urgency, while Amory “sank back… with a sigh of relief,” a brief calm that contrasts with his surging desire afterwards. The parenthetical aside “—alas for convention—” and the dash disrupt the flow, suggesting a playful disregard for rules, which intensifies the thrill of the night and Amory’s expectant mood.

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 might identify that the repetition and exclamation in "I can kiss her" and "I’ll bet I can. I’ll bet I can!" show Amory’s eager anticipation, while verbs/imperatives like "cried" and "Turn down this side street" add urgency, and "sank back" with a "sigh of relief" suggests nervous excitement. For atmosphere, contrasting adjectives in "half crystalline, half misty" and the description "chill" and "vibrant with rich tension" (plus exclamatory sentences) create a cold but exciting night.

The writer uses repetition and exclamatory sentences in Amory’s direct thought: “I can kiss her… I’ll bet I can. I’ll bet I can!” This shows his anticipation and growing confidence, and the italics on “bet” emphasise his insistence.

Furthermore, the verb phrase “sank back… with a sigh of relief” suggests he relaxes because an opportunity is coming, building a hopeful, expectant mood. Myra’s imperatives, “Turn down this side street… and drive straight…!”, and the dynamic verb “cried” create urgency, which adds to Amory’s anticipation. The parenthesis “alas for convention” hints they are breaking rules, adding excitement.

Additionally, descriptive contrast in “half crystalline, half misty” shows the night as both clear and unclear, making the atmosphere tense and unusual. The metaphor and slight personification in “the night around was chill and vibrant with rich tension” make the setting feel alive, matching Amory’s excited state. Overall, the language shows eager waiting in a charged night.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer shows Amory’s anticipation with repetition and an exclamation mark in "I can kiss her" and "I’ll bet I can!", making him sound excited and confident. The atmosphere is created by descriptive words like "half crystalline, half misty", "chill", and "vibrant with rich tension", which make the night feel cold and tense.

The writer uses repetition to show Amory’s anticipation. He thinks, “I can kiss her... I’ll bet I can. I’ll bet I can!” Repetition and exclamation marks show his excitement. The short thought shows his focus. Moreover, the verb “sank” and the phrase “sigh of relief” suggest he was tense before, making his hope clearer. Furthermore, descriptive adjectives like “crystalline” and “misty” create imagery of the night. This, with “chill” and “vibrant”, builds a mixed atmosphere. Additionally, the noun phrase “rich tension” makes the night feel alive. Therefore, the language shows his anticipation and the tense, cold night.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Direct thought voice plunges us into Amory’s private anticipation, giving immediate access to desire (I can kiss her)
• Repetition and italics intensify self-persuasion and mounting excitement, showing eagerness tipping into certainty (I’ll bet I can!)
• Imperative command and exclamation add urgency and secrecy, creating a swift, clandestine opportunity that fuels hope (Turn down this side street)
• Parenthetical aside wryly spotlights social transgression, making the moment feel risky and thrilling (alas for convention)
• Intimate eye contact suggests mutual complicity, sharpening his expectation of what might follow (the eyes beside)
• Physical release after tension suggests danger averted, clearing emotional space for anticipatory desire (sigh of relief)
• Juxtaposed imagery blends clarity and uncertainty to mirror a charged, liminal mood (half crystalline, half misty)
• Personifying abstraction makes the environment hum with expectancy, aligning setting with his excitement (vibrant with rich tension)
• Structural shift from thought to expansive setting externalizes feeling, turning private desire into atmospheric charge (Overhead the sky)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how alienation intensifies by the end of 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 perceptively trace how structure builds alienation: the ambivalent opening (“half crystalline, half misty”) and intimate move into the “little den of his dreams” are undercut by prolepsis (“A few years later this was to be a great stage”), before a tonal pivot at “Sudden revulsion” and the disembodying “her voice came out of a great void” narrow perspective to Amory’s isolation. It would also note anticlimax (“but none came”) and the distancing close—he “silently followed” beneath “shrieks of laughter” and “vapid odor”—using interruption, contrast and spatial descent to intensify alienation by the end.

One way the writer structures alienation is by framing the scene with retreat from society. At the outset, Myra and Amory peel away from the "party ahead" down a "side street," and the narrative lingers on a chill, emptied landscape—roads as "dark creases" in a "white blanket," a "pale" moon. This slows the pace and renders the world unfamiliar, foreshadowing isolation. The move from public hubbub to a sealed "little den" narrows the focus, so Amory’s later psychological distance feels starker.

In addition, a proleptic authorial aside and a tonal volta intensify estrangement. "A few years later this was to be a great stage for Amory" reframes the present as performance, estranging him—and the reader—from sincerity. Close internal focalisation—"I can kiss her"—then flips into an extended sentence of "revulsion" in which he "wanted to creep out of his body": an evocation of dissociation. The shift from clipped anticipation to anaphora and cumulative listing slows pace and heightens self-consciousness, distancing him from Myra’s "clinging" presence.

A further structural device is anticlimax and a shift in focus that leaves Amory peripheral. The door "opened suddenly," but the expected "crash" "never came"; Myra’s "pout faded" into placidity, restoring social masks that exclude him. The closing image—hearing "shrieks of laughter" and the "vapid" sweets as he "silently followed"—echoes the opening party yet places him behind and voiceless. This circularity ensures alienation culminates by the end, with Amory outside both intimacy and society.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: Level 3: A clear response would track a shift from apparent intimacy to isolation, starting with anticipation and a private setting—“I’ll bet I can,” the “little den of his dreams,” and a “cosy fire”—before a tonal turn as “Sudden revulsion seized Amory,” her voice comes from “a great void,” and the repeated “I don’t want to!” signals withdrawal. It would also note the structural interruption “the door opened suddenly,” contrasting his “silently followed” with external “shrieks of laughter” and the “vapid odor,” and might link the prolepsis “A few years later this was to be a great stage” to foreshadow recurring alienation.

One way the writer structures the text to create alienation is through framing and contrast of setting. At the opening, the focus shifts away from the party—“Turn down this side street”—into a “little den” where they feel “alone in the great building.” By the end, the focus widens back to the social world: “shrieks of laughter” and the smell of “hot chocolate” downstairs, while Amory “silently” follows. This return intensifies his alienation: he re-enters the crowd physically but remains separate emotionally.

In addition, the writer engineers a clear turning point in pace and tone. Early free indirect thought—“I can kiss her… I’ll bet I can”—creates intimacy, but a sudden volta arrives: “Sudden revulsion seized Amory.” Short exclamations and pauses (“There was another pause”; “I don’t want to!”) quicken the pace and fracture the scene, showing him estranged even from his own body—he wants to “creep out of his body.” The brief temporal aside, “A few years later… a cradle for many an emotional crisis,” foreshadows ongoing isolation.

A further structural feature is the anticlimax when Myra’s mother enters. Amory “waited for the crash—but none came.” The tone shifts; Myra’s voice becomes “placid,” masking the conflict. This change in focus from private intensity to social performance leaves Amory voiceless, heightening his sense of being excluded from others—and from himself.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response might identify that the text’s structure moves from early closeness (e.g., I can kiss her, cosy fire) to a sudden change in mood (Sudden revulsion, the repeated I don't want to!), and that the interruption (The door opened suddenly) and the ending where he silently followed while the party goes on below increase the sense of alienation by the end.

One way the writer has structured the text to create alienation is by starting with Amory’s private thoughts. We begin with “I can kiss her,” so the narrative perspective is inside his head. The time reference, “A few years later,” interrupts the scene and adds distance, making him seem apart even in the moment.

In addition, in the middle there is a clear change in mood. After the warm setting and the kiss, it shifts to “sudden revulsion seized Amory.” This contrast moves the focus from closeness to isolation. The repetition “I don’t want to” shows him rejecting contact.

A further structural feature is the ending, where the focus moves to others. Myra’s mother appears and Amory “silently” follows, while he hears “shrieks of laughter” and smells “hot chocolate.” By finishing with the busy party below, his alienation feels strongest at the end.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with closeness and excitement—Amory thinking "I’ll bet I can!" and entering "the little den of his dreams"—but then shifts to alienation when "Sudden revulsion seized Amory" and he says "I don’t want to!". By the end, the interruption and his detachment ("as though she were a new animal", "silently followed") show a simple mood change that makes the alienation stronger.

One way the writer shows alienation is by starting with closeness. At the beginning, the focus is on the couple in a cosy room, which contrasts with the later lonely feeling.

In addition, there is a shift in the middle after the kiss. The mood turns to disgust, and short sentences like “Kiss me again.” and “I don’t want to.” break the flow and make distance.

A further structural feature is at the end. The mother enters, the focus moves to the crowd and sounds downstairs, and Amory goes silent and follows, which leaves him isolated.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Parenthetical interruption flags broken social norms from the outset, marking separateness within the narrative flow (alas for convention).
• Immediate detour away from the group creates physical separation, structuring the scene as an escape into privacy (side street).
• Early switch to close interior monologue narrows perspective, isolating Amory inside his own intentions (I can kiss her).
• A slowed descriptive pause suspends action in a cold, remote atmosphere, heightening emotional distance (half crystalline, half misty).
• Shift into a closed setting plus foreshadowing frames the moment as staged performance, distancing him from sincerity (great stage for Amory).
• Dialogic crescendo builds intimacy to a peak so the later rupture bites harder, intensifying isolation by contrast (first and second and third).
• Abrupt tonal pivot signalled by a shock-started sentence severs connection and thrusts him apart emotionally (Sudden revulsion).
• Interior spatial imagery enacts self-withdrawal, showing mental flight from body and scene (corner of his mind).
• An intrusive entrance resets the social script; anticlimax in Myra’s composure leaves him the odd one out (The door opened).
• Closing sensory contrast and muted action detach him from the crowd as he trails the noises and sweetness (silently followed).

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 31 to the end.

In this part of the source, Amory is filled with 'disgust' and 'loathing' right after the romantic kiss. The writer suggests that the reality of romance can be a confusing and major disappointment.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Amory's feelings of disgust and loathing
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray Amory's disillusionment with romance
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

Question 4 (AO4) – Critical Evaluation (20 marks)

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would largely agree, analysing how the writer juxtaposes the idealised moment—“their lips brushed like young wild flowers in the wind,” Myra’s “We’re awful”—with the abrupt tonal shift to “Sudden revulsion … disgust, loathing,” using close focalisation and sensory detail (“creep out of his body,” “great void”) to show romance as confusing and disillusioning. It would further evaluate the satiric bathos that dismantles the fantasy—Myra’s childish “I’ll tell mama” and the closing “vapid odor of hot chocolate”—to argue the writer critiques adolescent romance as performative and ultimately disappointing.

I largely agree with the statement: the writer presents Amory as suddenly overwhelmed by “disgust” and “loathing,” and uses language and structure to show how the reality of romance collapses into confusion and disappointment. Crucially, that disappointment grows from a mismatch between the staged, storybook atmosphere and the raw, awkward reality of first intimacy.

From the outset, the scene is engineered to feel idealised. The “little den of his dreams,” with its “cosy fire” and “sink-down couch,” creates a lexical field of comfort and allure. The proleptic aside that this room would be “a great stage… a cradle for many an emotional crisis” is deft foreshadowing: “stage” hints at performance, while “cradle” infantilises his emotions, suggesting immaturity. Even Myra’s capitulation—“The atmosphere was too appropriate”—implies they are acting a script rather than feeling something genuine, laying the ground for later disillusionment.

The kiss itself is couched in delicate, sensory similes that foreground innocence and novelty. Amory “tasted his lips… as if he had munched some new fruit,” and then “their lips brushed like young wild flowers in the wind.” The taste imagery and similes of youth and nature cast the moment as tentative and ideal. This ideal is instantly undercut by a violent tonal shift: “Sudden revulsion seized Amory, disgust, loathing.” The verb “seized” personifies the emotion as uncontrollable, while the asyndetic pair “disgust, loathing” intensifies his visceral recoil. Internal focalisation crystallises his panic: he “desired frantically to be away,” became hyper-aware of “their clinging hands,” and wished to “creep out of his body and hide… in the corner of his mind.” That dissociative metaphor shows confusion at the level of identity; the romance is not just disappointing, it is alienating. The disembodied line “Her voice came out of a great void” and his repeated, exclamatory “I don’t want to!” further signal a collapse from fantasy into distress.

The aftermath compounds the anticlimax. Myra’s “cheeks pink with bruised vanity” personifies her pride, while the “great bow… trembling sympathetically” makes her reaction feel theatrical, even childish—confirmed by “I’ll tell mama,” which reduces passion to playground threat. Structurally, the expected explosion is withheld: he “waited for the crash—but none came.” Myra turns “placid as a summer lake,” a simile exposing the superficiality and speed of her emotional switch. The closing sensory detail—“the vapid odor of hot chocolate and tea-cakes”—drains the scene of romance, replacing it with bland domesticity, as Amory “silently” follows, chastened and disappointed.

Overall, I strongly agree: through foreshadowing, simile, internal focalisation, and anticlimax, the writer shows that when performance collides with inexperience, the “reality” of romance becomes not only confusing but a profound, bathetic disappointment.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would mostly agree, showing how the writer contrasts the cosy build-up—the little fire, sink-down couch, and lips like young wild flowers—with Amory’s Sudden revulsion… disgust, loathing and desire to creep out of his body, to present romance as confusing and disappointing. It would also note the tonal shift in Myra’s swing from I hate you! to placid as a summer lake and the anticlimax of the vapid odor of tea-cakes, perhaps suggesting this is teenage awkwardness as much as “romance.”

I largely agree that, after the kiss, Amory is overwhelmed by “disgust” and “loathing,” and the writer presents romance as confusing and a major disappointment. However, this disillusion is sharpened by the idealised build-up beforehand, and not shared by Myra at first.

The writer first constructs a deliberately romantic “stage” so the let-down feels sharper. The “little den of his dreams,” with a “cosy fire” and “sink-down couch,” reads like a set, and the structural foreshadowing—“a cradle for many an emotional crisis”—prepares us for collapse. Myra “capitulated” because the “atmosphere was too appropriate”: the diction implies something contrived. Sensory and nature imagery make the kiss seem delicate and new—he “tasted his lips… as if he had munched some new fruit,” and their lips “brushed like young wild flowers.” This heightens the irony when reality fails to match the fantasy.

The tonal shift is abrupt. The verb “seized” in “Sudden revulsion seized Amory” shows loss of control, while the heavy nouns “disgust, loathing” underline intensity. Through internal focalisation, we hear his dissociated voice—“he heard himself saying”—and the metaphor “wanted to creep out of his body… up in the corner of his mind” captures confusion and shame. The repetition and escalation of “I don’t want to!” intensify his rejection.

The aftermath shows romance as messy and performative. Myra’s instant swing to “I hate you!” and threats to “tell mama” expose childish vanity. Structurally, the mother’s entrance produces anticlimax: Amory “waited for the crash—but none came.” The simile “placid as a summer lake” for Myra’s voice suggests a social mask. Finally, the sensory detail of the “vapid odor of hot chocolate and tea-cakes” deflates the scene into banality, reinforcing disappointment.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: through contrast, simile, metaphor, and anticlimax, the writer shows Amory’s romantic ideal crumbling into confusion. Although Myra initially “rejoiced,” the dominant effect is Amory’s abrupt disillusion with the reality of romance.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: At Level 2, candidates typically agree to some extent that the writer shows romance as confusing and disappointing, using straightforward references like 'Sudden revulsion seized Amory, disgust, loathing' and the repeated 'I don’t want to' to show his disillusion. They may also note a simple contrast between the cosy 'little fire'/'sink-down couch' and the flat 'vapid odor' or Myra’s outburst 'I hate you!', with a brief comment on how this supports the viewpoint.

I mostly agree with the statement. After the kiss, Amory is clearly overwhelmed and even repelled, and the writer makes romance seem confusing and disappointing.

At first the scene feels romantic: there is a “cosy fire” and a “big sink-down couch,” and the kiss is described with a soft simile, “their lips brushed like young wild flowers in the wind.” This creates a dreamy mood. However, the mood shifts quickly. The writer uses the blunt nouns “disgust, loathing” and the verb “seized” to show a sudden, powerful reaction. He wants “to creep out of his body and hide,” a strong metaphor for embarrassment and panic. This contrast suggests real romance does not match Amory’s fantasy.

The dialogue also shows confusion. Myra whispers “Kiss me again,” but Amory repeats “I don’t want to!” with exclamation marks. The repetition makes him sound shocked and unsure. Also, “He had never kissed a girl before,” which hints at his inexperience and helps explain his sudden revulsion. Myra’s own response, “I hate you! … I’ll tell mama,” sounds childish, so the moment turns silly rather than romantic.

Finally, the arrival of the mother destroys any special feeling. Myra becomes “placid as a summer lake,” a simile that shows she can switch off her emotions. The last details—“shrieks of laughter” and the “vapid odor of hot chocolate”—use a negative adjective to suggest emptiness. Overall, I agree to a large extent: through contrast, simile, and dialogue, the writer presents romance as a confusing let-down for Amory, partly because he is inexperienced.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: At Level 1, a response would simply agree that the writer shows romance as confusing and disappointing. It would point to Amory’s 'disgust' and 'loathing', his repeated 'I don't want to' after the kiss, and Myra’s 'I hate you!' as basic evidence.

I mostly agree with the statement. After the kiss, Amory clearly feels “disgust” and “loathing”, and the writer shows romance as confusing and disappointing.

At the start of this part, the place seems romantic: there is a “cosy fire” and a “sink-down couch”. This imagery makes it sound like a dream. The simile “their lips brushed like young wild flowers in the wind” makes the kiss seem soft and nice. Then it changes.

The writer uses strong words like “sudden revulsion” to show Amory’s feelings. He “desired frantically to be away” and wanted to “creep out of his body”, which makes him seem uncomfortable and confused. His speech, “I don’t want to… I don’t want to!”, shows panic.

Myra’s line “I hate you!” and her threat to tell “mama” also make the romance look silly and childish. When her mother comes in, Myra is suddenly “placid as a summer lake”, another simile, which seems fake. At the end, the “vapid odor of hot chocolate” gives an empty feeling.

Overall, I agree to a large extent. The writer shows a big difference between the lovely build-up and Amory’s disgust, so romance here feels mixed-up and a let-down.

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:

• Tonal shift from dreamy setup to sudden recoil undercuts romantic ideal, making reality feel sharply disappointing to the reader (Sudden revulsion seized Amory).
• Embodied self-disgust and urge to escape himself convey intense confusion, suggesting the experience feels fundamentally wrong rather than fulfilling (creep out of his body).
• Sensory strangeness of the first kiss reads as alien and off-putting, turning curiosity into anticlimax and disillusionment (tasted his lips curiously).
• Contrived setting and Myra’s story-mindedness make the moment feel staged, so the “real” experience rings hollow and disappointing (too appropriate).
• Clashing dialogue and emphatic repetition mark an abrupt U-turn from desire to refusal, intensifying the sense of romantic failure (I don’t want to!).
• Delicate simile frames the kiss as fragile and immature, implying why it collapses into confusion rather than deep connection (like young wild flowers).
• Myra’s childish threat trivialises the intimacy, reducing “romance” to playground drama and heightening the sense of major disappointment (I’ll tell mama).
• Instant social masking before her mother exposes superficiality and performance, undermining any lasting romantic impact (placid as a summer lake).
• Anti-climactic sensory details close on banality, not bliss, reinforcing that the reality of the moment is empty and deflating (vapid odor of hot chocolate).
• Retrospective foreshadowing recasts this as a formative crisis, suggesting we should largely agree but note it’s a youthful confusion rather than a universal rule (great stage for Amory).

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

Your sixth-form magazine is running a creative writing page this term.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a lively street market from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a small kindness that changes a day.

(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:

Sunlight drapes itself over awnings the way silk finds shoulders: effortlessly, insistently. Colour bleeds from every stall; cerise and turmeric, indigo and lime, a palette overturned across the morning. The air is elastic with fragrance—cardamom and cumin, diesel and dough—so that breathing feels like tasting. Underfoot, cobbles keep their old cool; above, patched canopies quiver, and the whole market seems to inhale.

Here, voices braid and unbraid: 'Fresh figs!' rolls a baritone; 'Two for one!' answers a nimble alto. Somewhere a child squeals; coins perform their small rain in a cupped palm; a radio crackles out a love song. People stream past me—swift, deliberate, distracted—sleeves brushing, shoulders apologising, eyes calculating. It should be chaos; it isn’t. The movement has a rhythm: call and answer, offer and counter-offer, hush and surge.

Pyramids of spice rise and slump and are mended with a deft wooden scoop. Smoked paprika smoulders; turmeric makes brief suns on the trader’s fingertips; star anise lies there like tiny, obedient stars. Saffron is flame caught in a fist. Nearby, bolts of fabric lean like relaxed giants: batik and ikat and wax prints in audacious tessellations. When a breeze sidles through, they ripple as if they were fish in shallow water—glittering, evasive, alive. I brush one; it slides away from my skin, cool as a shadow.

Meanwhile, taste blossoms everywhere. A pomegranate cracks like laughter, scattering rubies into a waiting bowl. A woman with traffic-light bracelets presses a sliver of candied peel into my hand. 'Go on,' she says, indulgent. I do: it is sweet, then suddenly, wonderfully bitter. Flatbreads puff and deflate; steam escapes in small sighs. Oil ticks in pans; a knife keeps time against a board; a cat (market-familiar) threads a stall and emerges crowned with flour. The smell of frying—simple, shameless—clings to the corners of the morning.

Beyond the spice and cloth, copper pans rise like moons; baskets swell with oranges, with dates, with limes so bright they seem lit from within. A boy hustles past with a sack of onions over one bony shoulder; a girl measures string with the seriousness of a surgeon. Deals are struck with proverbs, with palms, with a brief, electric smile. And yet I am distracted: the whole street looks like a postcard come to life—a touch too neat for what it truly is.

By noon light hardens, and colours shout. Heat lays its flat hand on the awnings; the market answers back. It is an organism; it opens and closes, devours and gives, remembers routes that only feet know. Later, tarpaulins will sag; stray coriander will be brushed into cracks; voices will unspool into quieter rooms. For now, the street keeps talking—unabashed, inexhaustible—as I step away with citrus on my tongue and a little dust brightening my wrists.

Option B:

Monday. The time of coffee spoons and alarm clocks; pavements glossed with last night’s rain; the city shrugging itself awake with a hiss of buses and the sigh of doors. Neon signs flickered, perfunctory halos staining the puddles, and somewhere a gull shrieked like a badly tuned kettle. It was the sort of morning that pressed flat against you, damp and insistent, until the day felt already frayed at the edges.

As rain stitched quicksilver threads between umbrellas, Asha wrestled with a stubborn zip on her bag. She had mislaid her bus card—again—and the knot in her stomach tightened as if someone were drawing it with methodical fingers. Interview at nine; shoes already squeaking; hair that refused to be anything but chaotic. She could taste last night’s burnt toast on her breath and the metallic tang of nerves. A single thought pulsed, mutinous and repetitive: not today.

The stop was a small congregation of impatience. Steam ghosted from mouths; a man in a charcoal coat tapped his watch; a schoolgirl’s plait dripped rain like a saturated rope. When the bus finally lumbered into view—red, blunt, salvation—Asha climbed on and rummaged with increasingly frantic hands. Receipts, lip balm, a crumpled flyer for “Mindfulness Mondays,” the strange lint that colonises every pocket. No card. No cash. The driver’s expression was carved from granite.

“Next, please,” he said, not unkindly, but not with much space for mercy.

“I—just—one stop,” she tried, words stumbling over each other in their hurry. Heat rose to her face, unbecoming and unnecessary.

Then: the featherlight sound of a contactless beep behind her.

A hand—gloved, marigold wool—appeared at her shoulder. “I’ve got you,” said its owner, a woman with rain glossing her eyelashes and a smile that looked like it trusted the world despite evidence to the contrary. “Happens to all of us.”

Asha’s protest tripped and fell. “I’ll pay you back—”

“Don’t worry.” The woman shrugged, a small, generous gesture, as if kindness were a currency she carried in abundance. “Just make it a good day.”

It shouldn’t have been much: a fare, a beep, a sentence brief enough to fit into a breath. Yet something shifted—concurrently, almost imperceptibly—in the weather of Asha’s mind. The bus, which moments before had been a vessel of scrutiny and damp, warmed. The windows no longer just reflected her harried face; they framed a city newly legible. Coffee shops exhaled cinnamon; a florist’s buckets burst with reckless, iridescent tulips; a cyclist flashed past like a struck match.

By the time she found a seat—beside a teenager asleep, mouth soft as a comma—Asha’s shoulders had unclenched. She texted her mother, a simple good luck me this morning, heart tumbling after the words. She noticed the elderly man swaying two feet away and, without calculation, stood to offer her seat. He blinked in pleased surprise. “Very kind,” he murmured, voice like polished wood.

However small, the gesture braided itself to the earlier one, thread to thread, until a fragile rope formed—something to hold. At the next stop, she hopped off into rain that had become, if not sunlight, then at least tender. She let a woman with a pram pass first through the bottlenecked doors. She picked up a fallen glove lying forlorn at the curb and set it on a wall, conspicuously visible. It was, she realised, not arduous to alter the texture of a day: it was in the angles of your attention, in the choice to soften.

It is astonishing, really, how a quiet kindness recalibrates a morning: how a beep becomes a benediction; how a stranger’s marigold glove leaves a brightness that stays, obstinately, long after the rain has rinsed the pavement clean.

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

Option A:

The street unfurls into a market, a ribbon of colour and noise. Awnings run from balcony to lamppost; sunlight stitches through their frayed threads and drops mosaic patches on the cobbles. Heat sits like a mild, insistent hand at the back of the neck, and the smell—spice, sugar, a breath of diesel—arrives first and refuses to leave.

Cloth is everywhere: saffron streaming, lapis pooled, fuchsia flashing when a merchant flicks a bolt like a flag. Sequins wink; tassels tremble; the stall murmurs as fingers test the weight of silk and the honesty of weave. He names colours as if they were children—pomegranate, sky, smoke—and the words themselves feel textured.

Spices are mounded in copper bowls, a geography of taste. Turmeric piles into soft dunes; paprika glows like embers; cardamom pods, green and thumb-sized, look like beetles that have learned to sleep. When the dealer lifts a scoop, the powder falls in a fine, slow shower; the air pricks the nose with pepper and citrus, and the scales (stubborn, iron, reliable) tip by cautious degrees.

Noise rises and loops. Vendors sing their bargains, talk becoming a kind of music—call and answer, call and answer—while customers measure value with eyebrows, with pauses, with a smile not quite agreement. A child drags a red balloon nodding; an old man clicks his tongue at a price that descends like a kite but never lands. Coins clap into palms; paper crackles; someone laughs, loudly, then louder.

At the food stalls the air grows buttery and brave. Oil shivers; batter hisses; flatbreads blister and puff before being swiped with yoghurt and coriander, a lemon bitten just above them so juice spits and stings the lips. Steam curls from a pot of chickpeas; honey drips from a spiral of pastry; chestnuts split with a soft report and breathe out a sweet, smoky hush.

Life threads itself between the tables: a cat slides under a crate; pigeons jitter and pretend indifference; wind worries the bunting until it chatters like teeth. A crate gives way—astonished shout, a rattling thud—and oranges spill like small suns, rolling downhill while strangers lunge and laugh. For a moment the market wobbles, then steadies; the rhythm resumes, patient and pulsing.

By late afternoon the colours deepen, not dimming but becoming considerate, as if the market lowers its voice. Shadows lengthen between stones; vendors notch boxes shut, still bargaining for that last sale, still promising a tomorrow that will be the same and different. I leave with nothing heavy, yet my pockets feel lined—with saffron dust, with noise, with the warm insistence of trade.

Option B:

Monday wore the colour of damp newsprint. The sky sagged, a low slate lid; pavements glittered with salt and last night’s rain, a muddle of puddles, grit and grubby leaves. Buses breathed steam and impatience. The morning tasted faintly of pennies and old coffee.

Samir was late—late in the ordinary way that accrues into panic. The kettle had sulked, the toast had surfaced ash-grey, his key had jammed in the stiff lock like a stubborn tooth. He clattered down the stairwell with one shoe half-laced and his scarf annoyed at his neck; by the door he remembered the lunch he’d left on the counter and decided, bitterly, to forget it. Today had already begun as a litany of small abrasions.

At the stop the queue was a line of hunched shoulders and damp hoods; breath lifted in white wisps, brief ghosts that dissolved into the drizzle. When the bus arrived—late, naturally—the doors sighed open and the screen blinked Please Have Payment Ready, as if scolding. Samir fumbled his card, pressed it against the reader. The machine stuttered a red light and an ugly sound. Try again. He did. The same obstinate bleat. Behind him, a shuffle and a soft chorus of sighs; the pressure of other people’s mornings bearing down.

“I’m sorry,” he said to nobody and everybody. Heat licked up his neck. He calculated the options—run back home; explain to the driver; vanish.

A hand—broad, paint-splashed, ringed with a faint white scar—reached past his elbow and tapped. The machine chimed its bright compliance. The driver nodded; the queue flowed. “Go on, love,” said the hand’s owner, a woman with concrete-dust on her boots and kindness in her eyes that didn’t make a fuss of itself.

“I can pay you back,” he blurted.

“Don’t be daft,” she said, already moving, already holding on as the bus lurched.

He stood there for a heartbeat longer than he should have, the fugitive warmth of the gesture settling somewhere between his ribs. The bus smelled of wet wool and cheap perfume; a baby squeaked; someone’s radio leaked a tinny chorus. All of it felt, inexplicably, softer. By the next stop he noticed a teenager give up a seat without ceremony; a man in a suit bent to scoop a dropped glove; the driver said “Morning” to each passenger as if it mattered. Maybe it did.

The knot of the day loosened. He found a seat; he tied his other shoe. He rehearsed a repayment—coffee for the paint-splashed woman, at least a thank-you with weight—but she had vanished into the swaying crowd. Still, the intention lingered. He pressed the bell early.

Outside, the rain had thinned to a silver gauze. He crossed to the kiosk and bought two coffees—one for himself, one spare. It was a small thing, almost laughably small, but it felt like a hinge; the door of the day moved differently on it.

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

Option A:

Midday peels the street open, spilling light across striped canopies and snagged bunting. A river of colour moves between the stalls; people eddy and press, then loosen again, in and out, in and out. Heat lifts the smell of frying onions and crushed coriander, sweetened by candied nuts; beneath it, damp jute and wet cardboard. Shadows collect under trestle tables while flags twitch in a lazy breeze. The market hums—not politely, but properly—busy and bright, a thrum climbing the shopfronts.

At the fabric stall, lengths of silk sway like fish in a slow current. Sunlight stitches sequins to the air, and whenever the seller flicks his wrist the cloth ripples—pomegranate, saffron, bruise-blue—then settles, soft as breath. Women test the edges with careful thumbs. A girl drapes a shawl and spins; colour opens around her like a flower. Prices rise, then drop; laughter slides in after them.

Beyond that, spices rise in small mountains: turmeric like powdered sunrise, paprika a red that looks too loud to be quiet. Cardamom pods click in a scoop; cinnamon lies coiled and sleepy. A boy leans close, sneezes, and grins with a golden moustache. He is handed a slice of lime; it wakes the mouth. Oil rasps in shallow pans nearby; samosas hiss as if telling secrets. The air tastes warm.

Meanwhile, the soundscape knits itself. Vendors call out deals—“Two for five! Three for seven!”—and a counter-chorus answers: “Cheaper? Please?” A radio crackles behind a curtain of beads; its singer battles a drummer beating a plastic bucket. A cyclist noses through, carefully, while an elderly woman inspects tomatoes like gems. Hands meet over coins; heads nod, then shake, then nod again. Bargain and banter, back and forth, back and forth.

As the sun slides, the market loosens its grip. Fabrics are folded into obedient rectangles; spice hills are capped again like sleeping volcanoes. A gust lifts paper napkins and sets them skipping. The thrum dips but doesn’t vanish; it lingers in the metal rings of the stalls, in the sugar on my tongue. When I walk away, the street keeps pulsing behind me, a river of colour still running, even with my back turned.

Option B:

The morning sulked at the bus stop; the sky pressed low, dishwater grey, and the rain was the thin kind that soaks you anyway. I was late already: the alarm hiccuped, the toast burned, and the strike meant the street was a queue of red tail-lights crawling like tired ants. A nervous handful of us stood in a kind of damp patience. I patted my pocket for certainty and found only a receipt and a coin; it clinked, useless. Today had decided to be difficult.

The bus arrived with a sigh. Doors gasped open; warm air breathed out—wet wool and mud. We folded ourselves inside. I stepped to the card reader, lifted my hand, and the machine answered in that small, unforgiving tone: beep-beep, red. Try again. Beep-beep. The driver looked past me, eyes tired. “No funds,” he said, not unkind, not kind either. Shoes scuffed; umbrellas dripped; the queue shifted, the way a queue shifts when it wants you to vanish. Heat rose in my face. “I can—” Except I couldn’t. The coin was ridiculous. The day pinched tighter.

Then a hand reached past my shoulder, quick and neat. One soft beep; green. “I’ve got you,” the woman said, already stepping back, her shopping bag bumping her knee. She wore a raincoat the colour of dill; her nails were chipped. She didn’t meet my eyes for long—just a brief, practical glance, as if this were a door she held, nothing more. “Thank you,” I managed. She shrugged. “Little things.” Then she found a pole as the bus shuddered forward. That was all. No exchange of names. The machine forgot me; my body remembered.

By the time we passed the bakery, the rain looked gentler and cinnamon climbed the stairs. A boy in paint-splattered overalls got on, cheeks raw from the wind; I stood and let him take my seat, the word “Here” surprising my mouth. I pressed the stupid coin into his palm. “Get a bun,” I said, clumsy. He laughed and tucked it away. Outside, the traffic loosened; inside, so did something else. The emails would still pile up—yet a hinge had eased, and the day began to open.

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

Option A:

The market unfurls along the narrow street, a bright ribbon of colour under faded awnings. Sunlight slips in tilted stripes, catching on oranges and pyramids of spices. Scarlet, saffron, emerald: they glow against the grey road. A radio crackles under a tent, and a vendor's laugh jumps over the babble. The air is busy, almost thick, with smoke from a grill and the sweet, dusty smell of cinnamon. Stalls lean shoulder to shoulder, as if the whole place has squeezed itself together to fit.

People move in currents. A woman with jingling bangles weighs dates, the scale's needle twitching; a man folds silk so neatly it falls like water. Children weave between ankles, their squeaky trainers skidding on the worn cobbles. Vendors call—"Fresh figs! Two for one!"—and customers answer, haggling in cheerful bursts that rise and fall, rise and fall. A bicycle bell tings, and a pigeon scatters, wings flashing like silver. Money clinks and notes flutter; fingers tap on plastic boxes.

I brush a scarf and it whispers under my hand, smooth and cool, then rough jute prickles my wrist. A man spoons bright turmeric into a bag, and a golden dust floats up and settles on my sleeve. Another stall offers hot flatbread; the sizzle is a promise and I break the edge to steam. A woman presses a cup of mint tea towards me; it is too sweet but kind.

As afternoon tilts to evening, the light softens and bulbs flick on—dangling pearls above the chatter. The market seems to breathe; canvas roofs lift and settle in a slow nod. Even the rubbish rustles; stray wrappers string along the gutter like tired flags. I step away, my pockets warm with coins, my fingers stained yellow, and the calls follow me, faint but steady, like a heartbeat.

Option B:

The morning did not begin so much as stall. Grey rain hung over the estate like a wet sheet; buses hissed past in long sighs. My coffee lid wasn't on properly, so a thin brown river crept onto my fingers while I tried to juggle bag, umbrella, keys. The pavement shone like black glass and the wind needled my ears. Monday said: hurry, hurry, hurry—and still I moved slow.

At the station, I was already late. The board flickered delays, as if the lights were arguing. My stomach made that small, tight knot it always makes when I’m close to being told off. Today mattered: new manager, new rota, another chance to look like I can do this. I dug in my pocket for my battered travel card. It was there, but when I touched it to the gate, it flashed red. Try again. Red, again. The line behind me swelled and breathed, impatient.

I felt heat rise to my face. Coins clinked in my bag like they were hiding. Would they wait? Would I have to step aside and lose everything—time, place, hope? Then a hand, steady, appeared next to mine. A stranger tapped his card on the reader. The gate opened with a soft, surprising click. 'Go on,' he said, not looking for thanks. He had a small scar on his chin; his shirt was creased. He smiled like it cost nothing.

I hurried through, breathless, and something shifted. The station didn’t look like a trap now; it looked like a place full of people carrying umbrellas like tents, shoes squeaking, possibility. My shoulders lowered. I could breathe. I knew it wasn’t a miracle—just a small kindness—but it travelled. On the platform, a girl dropped a revision card and I bent to catch it before it slid into the track. 'Thanks,' she whispered. 'No problem,' I said, and meant it.

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

Option A:

The market spills into the street as if it can't keep still. Awnings flap on their poles, fabrics flutter like bright birds; colours seem to shout at one another in friendly argument. Heat wobbles above a line of stalls, and the air is thick, it tastes of cumin and warm sugar. Voices pour around me — bargaining, laughing, a burst of song — while pans clatter time. Smoke lifts from a small grill and slides away. Feet move in a tide, up and down.

To my left: pyramids of spice in copper bowls — saffron threads, turmeric dust, cinnamon bark. Their names are painted in wobbly letters; their smells sting and sweeten at once. A seller with a weathered voice rattles a scoop; it glints like a fish. How can anyone choose? Next door a woman pours coffee from a long-necked pot, steam twisting; she smiles as if we are old friends. A child tugs a sleeve, eyes wide for jars of sweets. Coins chatter on wood.

Further along, cloth falls in soft waterfalls of blue and red; threads catch on my fingers and the seller laughs. Fruit stalls glow: oranges stacked into tidy pyramids, grapes like beads, figs split to show their hearts. The market beats like a big heart, steady but restless. Each stall try to outdo the next — louder music, brighter signs — and for a moment I am lost and glad. When I step back, the noise follows me, and the smell clings like a friendly coat.

Option B:

Monday morning. The time of coffee cups and cold hands; the time when the sky could not decide to brighten. Puddles stitched the pavement and the bus stop shivered under an advert. Lia hugged her too-thin coat, checked her phone - 3%. She was late, again.

The bus arrived with a sigh. She climbed, tapped her card, and heard the sharp red beep: Insufficient funds. Her stomach dropped. She rummaged in every pocket; coins clinked like tiny rain. The driver stared, tired. The queue breathed behind her; someone coughed, someone muttered. Heat crawled up her face. Then a calm voice at her shoulder: 'I've got it.' A hand in a pale-blue sleeve leaned past and set a phone on the reader; a green chime answered. The driver lifted his eyes. 'Go on.'

Lia turned, words tangling. 'Thank you' tumbled out. The woman smiled - a sunflower pin glowed on her coat. 'Don't worry,' she said. 'Happens to all of us. Pay it forward someday.' On the seat, Lia exhaled for the first time that morning; the knot in her chest loosened. Outside, the wet city blurred into watercolour. She noticed the smell of warm bread, a child sticking a paper star to the glass, a pigeon strutting like a tiny guard. Her phone buzzed; she typed 'On my way', without excuses. When a man climbed on with a crutch, she stood. The clouds didn't open, not completely, but they thinned. A small kindness had changed the day; hers, and maybe another's.

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

Option A:

The sun leans over the rooftops and the market wakes up like a noisy bird. Bright cloth hangs from metal poles, they flutter and flicker in the warm air, ruby, gold, blue. It’s colours shout at each other. The smell of pepper and sweet cinnamon drifts between the stalls, pulling you along, pulling and pulling. Drums of spice stand open, powders piled in little hills that look like sandcastles. A fan creaks; a radio crackles; a bell tings.

At the entrance, a seller claps his hands and calls, “Come, best price, best price today!” His voice is rough but friendly. People weave around each other with bags and baskets, shoulders touching. A woman counts coins while a man lifts saffron with a shining scoop. Meanwhile, a child tugs a string of paper birds, and the birds dance like tiny kites that nearly fly away.

Further down, steam rises from a pan and the smell changes, fried dough, sharp lemon, hot oil. I pause. I breathe it in. My head hums with chatter and clatter and the quick click of heels. The market is busy, messy, alive — a little city squeezed into a street. When I leave, the sound follows me, fading, but still there.

Option B:

Rain drummed on the bus shelter; the pavement shone like foil. Monday smelt of wet wool and metal. I was late for my science test. My stomach was empty; my pockets were empty too. I’d left my wallet on the kitchen table, under the cereal box. The bus’s lights blinked through the mist and everyone shuffled closer.

The bus sighed to a stop. I stepped on with the others and pressed my card. Red. I tried again. Red. Heat climbed up my neck. 'Sorry,' I murmured, but the word felt thin. Behind me someone coughed, the driver looked bored. Then a hand reached past and tapped: one quick, generous touch. 'Don’t worry. It happens,' the man said. His scarf smelt of peppermint; his smile was small but steady.

I found a window seat and watched rain make little rivers. The town didn’t look so mean anymore. Because of a tap? Because of a stranger? It wasn’t much—still, it moved something inside my chest. By the time I reached school I held the door for a girl on crutches, and she said thanks. The day had been heavy at first, like a wet coat; now it felt lighter, and I could finally breath.

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

Option A:

The market is noisy and buisy, definately loud. Stalls stand in a long line, colourfull cloth hangs like a rainbow blanket. There is people everywhere, they move back and forth, back and forth. Someone laughs and someone shouts, it echoes under the canvas roofs. Its hot and the fabric shines, flags flap and look like they are dancing.

Spice smell is strong, it stings my nose, my eyes water. I can smell fried fish and fruit and smoke. Sellers bang pans and clap there hands. They call out deals again: fresh mango, two for one, come on.

I touch a scarf, it is smooth, the next one is rough and scratchy and it snags my finger. A child runs and a woman tells him stop, but he keeps going. I keep walking, my ears are full, my pockets feel light. The market is alive and it goes on and on and on.

Option B:

It was Monday. It was raining, the kind of rain that seems slow but it still gets everywhere. My bag felt heavy like a rock, my feet were cold. I was late - again.

At the bus stop, the bus was packed and loud, it smelled of wet coats. I tapped my card and it beeped red, the driver stared at me and shook his head. I mumbled sorry, I dug in my pocket, coins rattled but there wasnt enough. I felt small.

Then a hand reached past me, quick, simple, a tap. Green light. The stranger nodded and said, it's okay. Not a speech, not a big thing. But it felt big inside my chest.

I smiled at a mum with a pram and held the seat for her; my coffee tasted less bitter. A small kindness, it changed my whole day, maybe it changed me

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

Option A:

I walk into the market. It is loud and busy. You hear people shouting prices, "fresh fish two pound!" the air smells of spice and hot oil. Bright cloth hangs like flags over my head. The ground is sticky and my shoes stick, stick, stick. A man bangs a pan and steam comes up and the steam is sweet and I feel hungry, I am hungry. There is a child laughing and a dog barking and it pulls on the lead, it pulls and pulls. I think about my old bike at home. I watch the colours move, red, yellow, blue, it all move fast.

Option B:

It was a cold morning I was late and the sky looked grey like dirty water. My bag strap snapped outside the shop and my books fell, I wanted to cry. A man in a blue coat stopped and picked them up, he smiled and held the door and said you got this, mate. I said thanks, I didnt have any money for the bus and he gave me a pound coin. It was small but it felt big in my chest. The bus came and the driver nodded. A dog barked somewhere. The day moved softer after that. I walked on.