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 How old was the wine-shop keeper?: thirty – 1 mark
• 1.2 What did the wine-shop keeper carry slung over his shoulder?: a coat – 1 mark
• 1.3 How were the wine-shop keeper’s shirt-sleeves?: rolled up – 1 mark
• 1.4 How far were the wine-shop keeper’s arms bare?: to the elbows – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

Look in detail at this extract, from lines 21 to 35 of the source:

21 resolution and a set purpose; a man not desirable to be met, rushing down a narrow pass with a gulf on either side, for nothing would turn the man. Madame Defarge, his wife, sat in the shop behind the counter as he

26 came in. Madame Defarge was a stout woman of about his own age, with a watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything, a large hand heavily ringed, a steady face,

31 strong features, and great composure of manner. There was a character about Madame Defarge, from which one might have predicated that she did not often make mistakes against herself

How does the writer use language here to present Madame Defarge and her influence in the wine-shop? 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 Dickens crafts Madame Defarge as an imperturbable authority through precise detail and controlled syntax: her watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything is a paradox implying covert surveillance, while the large hand heavily ringed metonymically signifies power and status. It would also explore the tricolon and alliteration in a steady face, strong features, and great composure of manner, the elevated judgement of one might have predicated and the litotes did not often make mistakes against herself, plus her spatial dominance behind the counter and the subordinating clause as he came in, to show her composed control of the wine-shop.

The writer constructs Madame Defarge’s authority through positioning and cumulative description. Placing her “behind the counter” immediately frames her as gatekeeper of the space, a physical and symbolic barrier between customers and power. The asyndetic listing of attributes—“a watchful eye … a large hand heavily ringed, a steady face, strong features, and great composure of manner”—accumulates gravitas. The pre-modifying adjectives create a semantic field of solidity and control: “stout,” “steady,” “strong,” and “composure” connote immovability and emotional regulation, suggesting she governs the wine-shop with calm firmness. Even “heavily ringed” implies weight and status; the “large hand” hints at an ability to grasp and hold, reinforcing her grip on proceedings.

Furthermore, Dickens uses synecdoche and paradox to emphasise covert surveillance. Reducing her to “a watchful eye” foregrounds vigilance as her defining feature, while the paradox that it “seldom seemed to look at anything” implies stealth: she sees without seeming to see. This irony magnifies her influence; patrons are subtly monitored, and the shop’s atmosphere is disciplined by her unobtrusive gaze.

Additionally, elevated diction and litotes present her as calculating. The formal, quasi-legal phrasing—“There was a character about Madame Defarge, from which one might have predicated”—suggests deductive certainty, as if her nature is evidence. The litotic clause “did not often make mistakes against herself” euphemistically underplays ruthless self-interest, implying she acts only to her advantage. Juxtaposed with her husband’s overt “resolution,” her “composure” signals a quieter, more pervasive power. Therefore, the writer’s choices render Madame Defarge the still centre of authority: a poised, shrewd presence whose calm surveillance and self-possession dominate the wine-shop.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses a measured list of descriptive details — "stout woman," "watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything," "large hand heavily ringed," and "great composure of manner" — to present Madame Defarge as solid, controlled, and authoritative, while "sat in the shop behind the counter" positions her as overseeing the wine-shop. The evaluative comment that "she did not often make mistakes against herself" suggests shrewd self-interest, and the contrast with her husband’s "rushing down a narrow pass" highlights her calm, strategic influence.

The writer positions Madame Defarge as a controlling presence in the wine-shop. The prepositional phrase “behind the counter” suggests ownership and a barrier between her and the customers, so that when he “came in” she is already set in authority.

Moreover, Dickens builds a semantic field of strength and composure: she is “stout,” with a “steady face,” “strong features,” and “great composure of manner.” This cumulative list presents solidity and self-control. The synecdoche “a watchful eye” shows constant vigilance, while the paradox that it “seldom seemed to look at anything” implies covert observation—she notices everything without showing it. Likewise, “a large hand heavily ringed” uses the adverb “heavily” to intensify status and authority.

Additionally, the formal diction in “one might have predicated that she did not often make mistakes against herself” and the litotes “not often” convey shrewd self-protection: she cannot be cheated. The measured, complex sentence mirrors her calm control and, set against her husband’s earlier “rushing” energy, suggests she is the steady force who influences how the wine-shop runs and how others behave around her.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses a list of adjectives like watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything, large hand heavily ringed, and a steady face, strong features, and great composure of manner to present her as calm and strong; being behind the counter shows she controls the wine‑shop. The phrase did not often make mistakes against herself suggests she is careful and shrewd, so others would be wary of her influence.

The writer uses descriptive adjectives to present Madame Defarge as powerful in the wine-shop. The “watchful eye” suggests she is always observing, even though it “seldom seemed to look at anything”, which makes her influence quiet but constant behind the counter. Her position “behind the counter” shows control over the space and customers.

Furthermore, the list of features, “a large hand heavily ringed, a steady face, strong features, and great composure of manner”, builds a solid image. The adverb “heavily” and the phrase “great composure” suggest authority and calm leadership, so others would not challenge her.

Additionally, the narrator says there was a “character about Madame Defarge” and that she “did not often make mistakes against herself”. This almost sounds like a warning, showing she is shrewd and in charge, which increases her influence in the shop. The long, listing sentence also mirrors her steady manner.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer uses a list of adjectives like "stout," "watchful eye," "steady face," and "strong features" to show she is strong and calm, suggesting control in the wine-shop. Words such as "heavily ringed," "great composure of manner," and that she "did not often make mistakes against herself" make her seem powerful and careful.

The writer uses adjectives to present Madame Defarge. The words "stout" and "watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything" suggest she is strong and always watching, so she has power in the wine-shop.

Moreover, the phrase "behind the counter" shows her position. It makes her seem in charge of the room. The detail "large hand heavily ringed" hints she is important.

Furthermore, the list "steady face, strong features, and great composure" shows calm control. Additionally, "did not often make mistakes against herself" suggests she is careful and clever, so she influences others.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Spatial positioning presents authority in the shop, placing her as a quiet gatekeeper of the space (behind the counter)
• Repetition foregrounds her presence and influence by centring her identity in the scene (Madame Defarge)
• Paradoxical description implies covert control: vigilance that conceals its focus suggests hidden surveillance (watchful eye)
• Concrete, weighty detail suggests a forceful, assertive persona whose decisions carry weight (large hand heavily ringed)
• Firm adjectives build an imposing, unflinching presence that can steady or dominate the room (strong features)
• Abstract noun with intensifier conveys disciplined self-command that quietly governs the atmosphere (great composure of manner)
• Evaluative narration frames her as shrewd and self-protective, unlikely to be outwitted in her own domain (mistakes against herself)
• Juxtaposition with the dynamic, dangerous image of the man heightens her as the calm counterpoint in the setting (rushing down a narrow pass)
• Entry sequence contrasts his movement with her poise, positioning her as the fixed centre others revolve around (as he came in)

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 novel.

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

You could write about:

• how intrigue builds 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 identify how the writer structures intrigue by opening in medias res with abrupt dialogue—“Put it on, put it on”—then slowing into close, observational detail that drip-feeds coded non-verbal signals (“coughed just one grain of cough,” then “raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line”) to punctuate the scene and control pace. It would also track the shifting focus through Defarge’s viewpoint to the unnamed pair and withheld motive (“This is our man”), noting how he “feigned not to notice” and the ritualised repetition of “Jacques” build a conspiratorial pattern that culminates in Madame’s poised “kept her eyebrows up,” leaving meaning implied and the reader intrigued.

One way in which the writer structures intrigue is by launching the scene in medias res: the imperative “Put it on, put it on” and unnamed figures (“the other,” the “joker’s dress”) withhold identities and invite questions. The narrative then crosses a threshold—“recrossed the road and entered the wine-shop”—and slows into a zoomed-in portrait of Defarge: “good-humoured... but implacable,” a juxtaposition that destabilises our judgement. The viewpoint then tracks to Madame Defarge, whose “watchful eye” and composed stillness establish a surveillance motif. This movement from disorientating dialogue to methodical description manipulates pace and sustains intrigue.

In addition, the narrative scaffolds tension through repetition, temporal signposting, and shifting tone. The covert signalling—“coughed just one grain” and eyebrows “by the breadth of a line”—is iterated after each “interchange of the Christian name”—“Jacques”—forming a coded triad. The adverbials “When this interchange...”, “At this second...”, “This third...” measure the beats like a countdown. Public talk counterpoints private cues, surface conviviality masking coordination. By incrementally intensifying the signals until she “kept her eyebrows up, and slightly rustled,” the writer ratchets suspense while withholding the payoff.

A further structural feature is strategic withholding via perspective and naming. The strangers remain “an elderly gentleman and a young lady,” and their cryptic “This is our man” reframes the scene without explanation. Defarge’s internal aside—“I don’t know you”—briefly narrows focalisation, creating dramatic irony as he “feigned not to notice.” The enumeration—“two... two... three”—maps the stage. Ending on that minimal “rustle” works as a poised cliff-hanger, compelling the reader forward.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would explain that intrigue starts with unexplained dialogue (“Put it on, put it on”, “Call wine, wine”) then shifts to detailed characterisation (“bull-necked, martial-looking”, “implacable-looking”, “watchful eye”) to suggest controlled menace, before moving focus to the strangers (“This is our man”). It would also note structural repetition and coded signals—Madame Defarge “coughed another grain of cough” and “raised her eyebrows” at each “interchange of Christian name” (“Jacques”) while Defarge “feigned not to notice”—so that the closing “kept her eyebrows up” and “slightly rustled” withhold a reveal and sustain tension.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to interest the reader is the abrupt opening with unexplained dialogue: “Put it on… Call wine, wine”. This hook withholds context, so the reader questions what is being hidden. The focus then slows into a close description of the wine-shop keeper; the contrast “good-humoured” yet “implacable” and martial details alter the pace and foreshadow a concealed purpose, maintaining curiosity.

In addition, another structural element of the text which creates intrigue is the use of repeated signals. Madame Defarge’s “grain of cough” and lifted eyebrows recur as a motif, directing her husband’s gaze. This incremental repetition (rule of three) punctuates the scene and builds mystery as we try to decode it. The viewpoint then narrows to “an elderly gentleman and a young lady” and “This is our man”, deliberately withholding why they matter.

A further structural feature of the text is patterned dialogue and strategic withholding. The triple exchange of “Jacques” slows the pace and hints at a clandestine network, while Defarge “feigned not to notice” the strangers, creating dramatic irony. The paragraph ends on a small but loaded action—Madame Defarge “kept her eyebrows up, and slightly rustled”—a mini cliff-hanger that sustains intrigue about the next move.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with urgent dialogue like 'Put it on, put it on', then moves into detailed description of Madame Defarge before shifting focus to an 'elderly gentleman and a young lady', which makes the reader curious. Repetition of secret-like signals — the small 'cough', the repeated 'Jacques', and the hint 'This is our man' — creates intrigue because we don’t yet know what they are planning.

One way the writer structures the beginning to create intrigue is by starting mid-conversation. The opening dialogue, “Put it on, put it on” and “Call wine, wine,” gives no context, so we wonder who speaks and what “it” means. Then the focus moves to the wine-shop, delaying answers.

In addition, the writer shifts focus from the man to Madame Defarge and uses repetition to hint at secrets. Her small actions repeat: she “coughed another grain of cough” and raised her eyebrows “by the breadth of a line”. This suggests a signal and a more secretive mood.

A further structural feature is the repeated code-like name “Jacques” and the withheld information about the “elderly gentleman and a young lady”. The line “This is our man” is not explained, and it ends with Madame Defarge slightly rustling, a mini cliff-hanger that makes us read on.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer opens with abrupt dialogue "Put it on, put it on" then slows to detailed description of the wine-shop keeper and Madame Defarge, which makes us wonder what is happening. Repetition of "Jacques" and small signals like her "cough" and the hint "This is our man" suggest a secret plan, so the reader wants to keep reading.

One way the writer creates intrigue is by the opening focus on the wine-shop keeper and Madame Defarge. The detailed description sets the scene and makes us wonder why they matter.

In addition, the focus shifts to two strangers and to dialogue. The line “This is our man” and the repetition of “Jacques” make mystery, like a secret group.

A further structural feature is the ending. Madame Defarge’s small coughs and raised eyebrows are repeated, then she “slightly rustled”, which builds suspense and makes us want to know what happens.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• In medias res opening with cryptic dialogue and an unexplained smearing action hooks attention (Call wine, wine)
• Immediate shift of place funnels us indoors to the focal location, promising developments within the shop (entered the wine-shop)
• Gradual identification delays clarity: he’s first framed by role before being named, prompting curiosity about status (This wine-shop keeper)
• Juxtaposed traits and an ominous aside foreshadow danger, making his next moves unpredictable (not desirable to be met)
• Introduction of Madame through composed stillness and surveillance positions her as a silent controller in the scene (watchful eye)
• Incremental nonverbal signals (tiny coughs, eyebrow lifts) form a secretive cueing system, implying hidden plans (one grain of cough)
• A numbered sweep of customers normalises the setting while isolating the pair in the corner as significant (two playing cards)
• Withholding through a look-based message teases purpose yet conceals motives or identity, intensifying mystery (This is our man)
• Internal thought plus acted indifference defers confrontation, sustaining suspense about intentions and recognition (feigned not to notice)
• Patterned repetition of the shared name with timed cues builds a rhythmic escalation towards action (interchange of Christian name)

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, Madame Defarge is very still, only making small signals like a single cough. The writer suggests that this quietness shows she is secretly powerful and controls everything her husband does.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Madame Defarge and her quiet authority
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray her control through small gestures
• 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 that Dickens encodes Madame Defarge’s covert authority through microscopic, coded gestures—her watchful eye, the repeated coughed just one grain of cough, and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line—which prompt her husband’s compliance as the narrator notes he would do well to look round the shop. It would also evaluate with nuance, observing that while her stillness—kept her eyebrows up and slightly rustled—sustains pressure during the “Jacques” exchanges, Monsieur Defarge also feigned not to notice, suggesting some independent agency and limiting the claim that she controls “everything.”

I largely agree that Dickens uses Madame Defarge’s stillness to suggest a covert, directing power; her near-silent cues do seem to orchestrate her husband’s behaviour. However, “controls everything” overstates it: Monsieur Defarge is simultaneously characterised as “implacable” and purposeful, implying a partnership in which her quiet authority guides, rather than totally governs, his actions.

From the outset, Dickens builds a sense of latent command around Madame through description and positioning. The tricolon “a steady face, strong features, and great composure of manner,” together with the paradox of a “watchful eye that seldom seemed to look at anything,” crafts an impression of covert surveillance: she sees without seeming to. The verb “presided” in “the reckonings over which she presided” carries judicial connotations, aligning her with control and adjudication, while the proxemics of “sat in the shop behind the counter” place her as the figure overseeing the space. Even her costume—“a large hand heavily ringed,” “wrapped in fur,” “bright shawl”—symbolises status and self-possession; she is armoured in composure.

Dickens’s most striking method is kinesics: micro-gestures that function like stage directions. She “said nothing… but coughed just one grain of cough” and lifted her eyebrows “by the breadth of a line.” These diminutive quantifiers (“grain,” “breadth”) emphasise precision; minuscule signals carry maximal effect. The narrator’s mediation—“suggested to her husband that he would do well to look round”—softens the command into advice, yet the adverb “accordingly” shows direct obedience: he “accordingly rolled his eyes about,” then “feigned not to notice,” and “fell into discourse.” Her silence becomes an imperceptible imperative.

Structurally, Dickens choreographs a triadic ritual around the code-name “Jacques.” At each “interchange of the Christian name,” Madame Defarge “coughed another grain” and raised her eyebrows “by the breadth of another line.” This anaphoric pattern makes her gestures the punctuation of the scene, regulating its tempo and signalling safety or confirmation. The culmination—she “put her toothpick by, kept her eyebrows up, and slightly rustled”—reads like a conductor’s final cue, timing the transition from reconnaissance to action. Even the insolent nonchalance of “picking her teeth” during surveillance underscores unflappable authority: she controls the room without any overt display.

Yet Dickens counterpoints this with Monsieur Defarge’s earlier characterisation: “implacable-looking,” “nothing would turn the man.” His tactical choice to “feign not to notice” shows agency. Madame’s quietness governs key moves, but not “everything.”

Overall, I agree to a great extent: through paradoxical description, symbolic detail, and meticulously repeated kinesic cues, Dickens presents Madame Defarge as a still, secret centre of power who deftly steers her husband. However, the narrative also preserves his independent resolve, suggesting a formidable duet rather than absolute control.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: Level 3: Typically agrees to a large extent that Madame Defarge’s stillness implies covert power, clearly explaining how repeated micro-gestures — she said nothing, then coughed another grain of cough and raised her eyebrows by the breadth of another line with profound composure — function as signals so that it suggested to her husband that he would do well to look round and he accordingly rolled his eyes. It would temper “controls everything” by noting he feigned not to notice the strangers, implying strong influence rather than absolute control.

I largely agree that Dickens presents Madame Defarge’s quietness as a form of power, though I would not say she “controls everything.” From the outset she is characterised with “a watchful eye” and “great composure of manner.” The noun phrase “great composure” and the verb “presided” in “reckonings over which she presided” suggest authority and calculation, while the “large hand heavily ringed” symbolises status and a hard, possessing grip. Her stillness—knitting set aside, toothpick poised—juxtaposes the bustling shop, making her calm feel deliberate and intimidating.

Dickens then shows how tiny gestures steer her husband. When she “said nothing… but coughed just one grain of cough,” the precise quantifier “one grain” and the measured “breadth of a line” in her raised eyebrows present control as exact and coded. Crucially, the adverb “accordingly” signals cause and effect: “The wine-shop keeper accordingly rolled his eyes about,” implying he acts in response to her signal. At each interchange of “Jacques,” she “coughed another grain of cough” and “raised her eyebrows” again, all “with profound composure.” The repetition turns her silence into a system of command; she oversees the room without speaking, ensuring he notices the “elderly gentleman and a young lady” yet “feigns not to notice,” as her strategy dictates. Even the final detail that she “kept her eyebrows up, and slightly rustled” suggests a barely perceptible green light.

However, the claim that she “controls everything” overstates it. Monsieur Defarge is introduced as “implacable-looking” with “a strong resolution,” and he chooses to “fall into discourse” with the “triumvirate.” Dickens also writes that her gestures “suggested” he “would do well” to look, which implies guidance rather than command.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: her quiet signals confer secret authority and direct key actions, but Dickens also preserves her husband’s independent strength.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: At Level 2, a response would partly agree that Madame Defarge’s quietness suggests hidden control, using simple examples like "coughed just one grain of cough" and "raised her eyebrows by the breadth of a line" which "suggested to her husband" how to act, and noting her "profound composure". It might add that he still "feigned not to notice" the strangers, so she may not control everything.

I mostly agree that Madame Defarge’s quietness makes her seem secretly powerful and that she steers what her husband does, though I wouldn’t say she controls everything.

At the start, Dickens builds her authority through description. The adjectives 'watchful eye', 'steady face' and 'great composure' make her calm and in charge. The verb 'presided' in 'the reckonings over which she presided' sounds official, hinting she runs the shop. Her 'large hand heavily ringed' suggests status. Her eye 'seldom seemed to look at anything', implying she notices things without showing it.

When Monsieur Defarge enters, her tiny signals direct him. She 'coughed just one grain of cough' and raised her eyebrows, and this 'suggested to her husband' to check the customers. The adverb 'accordingly' shows cause and effect: he obeys and 'rolled his eyes about'. The small gesture method makes her power subtle but effective.

This control continues through repetition. Each time the name 'Jacques' is exchanged, she gives 'another grain of cough', still 'with profound composure'. The pattern creates a rhythm, as if she is counting and guiding the talk. At the end she 'kept her eyebrows up, and slightly rustled in her seat', a final signal that the three exchanges are complete.

However, the husband is also 'implacable-looking', 'a man of a strong resolution', so he is not a puppet. He 'feigned not to notice' the strangers by himself. So I don’t think she controls everything, but in this scene her silence and signals clearly steer his behaviour.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: I agree to a small extent because she is quiet but influential: she "said nothing", only "coughed just one grain of cough" and "raised her eyebrows", which "suggested to her husband" to look around, showing simple, quiet control. She also "kept her eyebrows up" and "slightly rustled", making her seem secretly powerful.

I mostly agree that Madame Defarge is quietly powerful and directs her husband. In the description, she has a “watchful eye” and “great composure” and she “said nothing.” Then she “coughed just one grain of cough” and lifted her eyebrows “by the breadth of a line.” These small actions make her seem calm and in charge. The adjectives like “watchful” and “steady” show quiet authority.

Because of her cough, it “suggested to her husband that he would do well to look round the shop,” and he “accordingly rolled his eyes.” This makes him look like he follows her hints. The repetition of “another grain of cough” and “another line” is used to show she keeps guiding him. At the end she “kept her eyebrows up” and “slightly rustled in her seat” as the third “Jacques” happens, so she seems to direct the talk.

Overall, I agree to a large extent that her quietness is power. But the husband is “a man of a strong resolution,” so maybe she does not control everything.

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:

• Silence and stillness build covert authority; her restraint makes the tiny signals more commanding (said nothing)
• Single, measured cough operates as a directive; it initiates her husband’s search of the room (one grain of cough)
• Microscopic eyebrow lift as coded signal; minimal movement implies precise, practiced control (breadth of a line)
• Causal phrasing confirms influence; he responds as instructed, “accordingly” following her cue (accordingly rolled his eyes)
• Paradox of vigilance disguised as detachment; she watches while appearing indifferent (watchful eye)
• Lexis of governance positions her in charge; “presided” suggests authoritative oversight of dealings (she presided)
• Composed, solid physicality connotes authority; poise and display reinforce quiet dominance (great composure of manner)
• Irony undermines titular male power; despite “her lord,” her signals steer his behaviour (her lord)
• Structural patterning with “Jacques” and coughs shows pacing control; each cue marks a stage (another grain of cough)
• Partial disagreement: he retains independent thought; his pretence and inner monologue show limited autonomy (feigned not to notice)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

During Sports Week, your college magazine is inviting creative pieces from students.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a penalty shoot-out from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a missing trophy.

(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 goalmouth gapes—white frame unsmiling—while the penalty spot glows like a scuffed coin in the turf. Floodlights comb the pitch with surgical brightness; the grass shines, slick, a neat chequered quilt under a sky the colour of slate. Around it, the stadium inhales. Banners shiver, a heart-in-mouth hush settles, a thousand throats hum that uncertain hum—the tremor of a crowd deciding whether to hope. Somewhere a drum taps an impatient heartbeat. The net hangs still, immaculate geometry. Ten yards. Twelve paces. A small distance, measured and merciless.

He begins the walk from the centre circle, studs counting out little truths on the grass. The ball is obedient. He wipes a fleck of mud, nests it on the spot; it teeters, then settles. The keeper, phosphorescent in green, prowls left and right (as if the posts might shift, as if geometry could be persuaded), gloves clapping, mouth offering theatre and threat. The air tastes of iron and liniment. Time does an odd thing: it stretches thin. The run-up is measured, an almost musical metronome: plant, hinge, strike. Leather on stitch; the net gives a curt, rippling nod.

Now the world accelerates. A roar convulses the stands; scarves whirl; limbs turn into punctuation. Yet, abruptly, it shrinks again—funnelled into the green corridor between shooter and keeper. The second taker tries a jittering little dance that fools no one but himself; his ankle tightens at the last instant. He lashes high; the crossbar rings—a bright, cruel bell. For a heartbeat the stadium is silent before the groan pours down in waves. He walks back with his head bowed, the spot rougher where his studs scuffed a crater.

One after another, after another, they come, ritualised and raw: a teenager who kisses his wristband; a veteran who has done this in rain; a full-back whose run-up is a lopsided parabola. The keeper guesses, gambles—heels on the line, a theatrical shiver. Gloves to bar; fingertips to post; eyes locked. How can ten yards feel like a mile? Each kick is a tiny biography—hesitation, decision, consequence—written in the blur of a ball. The scoreboard ticks its indifferent arithmetic: 2-2. 3-2. 3-3. Breath steams. The spot is no longer a coin but a cratered moon, chalk dust ghosting up with every step.

At last, the captain smooths the tape on his socks, as if tidiness could tame the moment. The crowd stills; even the flags grow thoughtful. He waits until the keeper twitches—a fractional flinch, a tell. He has practised this since the back garden, since the battered garage door. He runs, economy distilled; he opens his body, then knives his foot through the centre. The ball travels—flat, unanswerable—past a desperate glove and into the corner where stanchion meets shadow. Sound returns all at once. Strangers embrace. And still, beyond the frenzy, the spot sits pale and pitted, proof that glory is, at its heart, a small, precise act.

Option B:

Monday. The hall smelled of beeswax and quiet expectation; varnish glowed under the skylight as if the day itself were holding its breath. The trophy cabinet, a glass-fronted chapel, kept its congregation of cups in obedient rows: goblets with scalloped lips, shields scratched with years of names, ribbons cascading in house colours. Beyond the doors, benches waited in sermon-like lines; banners hung their bold birds and lions; somewhere, a clock clicked with insistent moderation. It was a morning made for applause, for ceremony, for the gleam of a certain cup raised high so that light could explode against it.

Elise Lennox arrived before the caretakers, as she always did, keys clutched, clipboard tucked under one arm (she’d insisted on doing it properly, as usual). She crossed the hall, her footsteps whispering over the parquet, and stopped at the cabinet for the ritual she had invented: a minute to check the Hollis Cup was there. Not superstition—insurance. The lock winked; the cloth inside was a bruised blue; the velvet lay pressed into a familiar oval.

Except, where the cup should have stood, there was an absence so precise it felt deliberate.

Elise blinked. Then she looked again, harder—as if the trophy might materialise under scrutiny. No splinter, no spiderweb crack; the glass was immaculate. The lock was still latched, the tiny brass tongue untroubled. The velvet cradled only memory: a dark oval like a shadow that had forgotten its owner. Their trophy, the old silver with its ornate handles and severe little crown, the tradition that had outlived Headteachers and refurbishments, was gone.

Her stomach tilted, a lift falling through unseen floors. Someone had borrowed it? For polishing? For photographs? The questions produced only the pale echo of her own breath fogging the glass. Mr Dyer’s voice arrived in her mind—measured, fond, terrifyingly disappointed—followed by the rustle of parents, the fizz of cameras, the announcement she had rehearsed. Today was the day the Hollis Cup would return to Kestrels; she had written the line and underlined it twice. It hadn’t just been metal; it was promise distilled, the sun around which their small planets had orbited. Perhaps that’s a bit much, she thought, but the thought didn’t make the gap smaller.

She tested the cabinet; it yielded to her key and a breath of lemon-wax air. Inside, everything else stood obedient. Only one clue, if it was a clue at all: a single scarlet thread snagged on the latch, fine as a vein. Kestrels wore scarlet. Annoyingly incriminating. Yet there was no grease smear, no grit, no hurriedness written into the scene; whoever had removed the cup had done it carefully—ceremonially, even.

By seven-forty, the heating pipes had begun their morning percussion and the first murmur of students swelled beyond the doors. Elise stepped back, closed the cabinet, and tugged a banner a fraction across the glass—temporary camouflage. Even so, the absence seemed to radiate; it made the whole hall tilt toward it. She could run to the office and pull the fire alarm on the plan, or she could buy five minutes and look.

She chose the latter. Outside, the corridor offered its own geography of clues: a faint metallic tang riding above the smell of toast from the canteen; a constellation of fine scratches leading away from the hall; the echo of a laughter she almost recognised. Somewhere, the Hollis Cup was still catching someone else’s morning light. Elise squared her shoulders—assured, afraid, determined—and went after it.

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

Option A:

The stadium holds its breath. Floodlights hang like cold moons over the box, pressing a pale sheen on the grass; each blade shows a damp edge. The penalty spot is a scuffed, chalk-white coin, worn by a thousand hopes. Not a song, not a chant; only the electric hiss of the lights and the lungs of thousands, inhaling anxious air.

Between the posts, the keeper becomes a neon sentinel, bouncing on his heels, gloves patting the crossbar—three quick taps—superstition in muscle memory. Opposite him, the taker sets the ball and adjusts laces, breath, courage. The whistle slices the quiet. Measured steps. Instep meets leather with a clean thud. The shot skims low right; the keeper throws a guess. Fingers graze; the net sighs.

The scoreboard blinks a new number, huge and impersonal. Noise swells, then drains as the next figure steps up. Boots crunch the penalty arc. The air smells of earth, rubber, that faint metallic taste of nerves. Every penalty is two stories: technique and memory. The whistle recalls him. A feint, a dimpled lift—the keeper has flown. It bounces in, insolent.

Then comes the miss. A captain with a jaw like a doorframe stalks to the mark. Sweat beads his temple. The strike is clean—rising. The crossbar meets it with a church-bell clang. Silence breaks like glass. The groan loops the stadium, a grey wave. The coach stands statue-still—coat zipped to the chin—mouth a tight hyphen.

It goes on, boots after boots, ritual after ritual. Gloves are dusted; spots are reshaped. Some choose corners, persuasive and precise; some trust violence. The white lines frame everything—penalty arc, penalty area, the D; inside that geometry, people become very simple: fear, choice, action. Time does its old trick—slowing, quickening, slowing—like a faulty clock.

At last. The taker is young; his lips move—counting breaths, a private spell. He sets the ball; the logo faces him. Whistle. One step, two, three—he strikes across it to the left, body leaning right. The keeper guesses correctly, a spring of muscle; fingertips brush it. For a blink the ball spins, kisses the inside of the post, and settles as it must. The net ripples; the night erupts.

Option B:

Monday. The day the hall pretended to be grand; varnished floorboards glinting, banners ironed into attention, and the trophy cabinet breathing quietly under the stage lights. In the bright rectangle of morning, something was wrong: where the Whitaker Cup should have sat, a pale halo of dustless shelf—a neat absence, almost clinical.

I saw it first because I am always first. The microphones sulk unless I coax them; the curtains snag; the lights flare if you rush. I like the calm before everyone else arrives—the lemon-and-metal scent. So when the sparkle was missing, the room seemed to hold its breath. My stomach dropped, then tightened into something practical.

The Whitaker Cup was not just a slab of silver. It was our history in metal: engraved names, dates marching through decades, a small dent at the base from some careless year. Last week I had polished it until the handles were bright as frost; today Mrs Keane would lift it during assembly while the slideshow rolled—Achievement, Community, Determination. Without it, the stage looked exposed, like a smile with a missing tooth.

The padlock was still there, drooping like a question mark. No cracks, no splinters; whoever had taken it had used a key. Having checked the hinges twice, I pressed my fingertips to the glass; cold that made the skin shrink. What I could see: a pale square, cleaner than the rest; a thread of navy ribbon snagged in the door’s hinge; an elliptical smear just above the shelf—as if a hand had steadied itself. Clues, certainly; conclusions, not yet.

Keys chattered in the doorway before Mr Lowe arrived. He set his bucket down; the water shivered. “Everything all right?” he asked. “Not really,” I said. “The Cup’s gone.” He stared, something pinching his face—worry or annoyance; I couldn’t tell. “We should tell Mrs Keane,” he said, already lifting his radio. “Wait,” I said. “Give me ten minutes. If it was borrowed, we can find it before assembly. Who would take something that belongs to everyone? A prank? A message?”

I slid the padlock off and opened the cabinet with the key hidden behind the curtain rail—a detail I should not know, but do. The smell of polish rose, sharp as a reminder. The hall clock ticked, louder now, marking every second we did not have. Either I would find the Whitaker Cup before the first applause, or the school would be applauding an absence.

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

Option A:

The stadium holds its breath. Floodlights paint the grass a clean, impossible green, and the white spot gleams like an eye. Behind the goalmouth the net hangs slack and patient, a pale throat ready to swallow whatever arrives. Sound becomes a thin wire: the click of studs, the faint rustle of plastic flags, the whistle poised at the referee’s lips.

Now the first taker steps forward; he pinches the bridge of his nose, a small superstition. The keeper dances on the line, all lurid jersey and twitching hands, trying to be bigger than the frame. Left or right, left or right—he drums his gloves together, as if rhythm could conjure certainty. The whistle splits the air. Three strides, then a fourth that is faster. The strike is clean. The ball rises with a hush and a hiss, skimming inches above grass, and the net ripples like water in wind. A surge: song, smoke, relief.

Again. The second player jogs in, shoulders squared. He stutters, corrects, almost slips. A breath too long; a decision too late. The ball cannonades off the post—hard, metallic—spins away like a coin refusing a palm. Groans tumble down the stands. The keeper punches the air, a small volcano of joy.

Time begins to deform. Numbers creep across the scoreboard, but the seconds stretch as if tugged by invisible hands. Every ritual becomes magnified: the tiny swipe of a thumb across a boot; the quiet words mouthed into a collar. The grass near the spot is churned, muddy, wounded. Shots thud in: top corner, bottom corner, straight through the middle because sometimes bravery looks foolish and sometimes it works. A save made with the toe; a glove brushed by leather; a flailing leg that becomes a legend for a heartbeat.

Then the last of regulation. If he scores, they live; if he fails, they don’t. He is young, too young for the captain’s armband that tonight encircles his bicep like a dare. He places the ball and it rocks, settling. Silence thickens. The keeper crouches, a coiled spring; the crowd leans, a single body tipping. He runs. He hits it.

For a moment the ball seems to stop—right there in the cold, bright air—before deciding. Net, at last, and the stadium erupts: confetti, smoke, strangers hugging strangers. The net coughs the ball back out. The spot, scuffed and pale, waits for next time.

Option B:

Morning. The hall smelt of polish and nerves; rows of chairs waited like obedient soldiers. The glass trophy cabinet glimmered on the far wall.

Except it didn’t.

Where the Harrington Shield should have sat—silver curved like a grin—there was an empty cradle: an oval of dust, bruised felt, sunlight catching nothing. The gap was ugly, like a missing tooth in a neat smile.

Maya stopped mid-step, programmes slithering against her knees. She had come early to photograph the Shield for the newsletter; she’d planned the headline and the triumphant quotes. She pressed her face to the glass and fogged it with a shallow breath. Had somebody moved it to the stage? Had the headteacher taken it to polish? Or—dramatic, she knew—stolen it? She hated the word, yet the cabinet told a simple truth: the trophy had gone.

Keys jangled. Mr Briggs, the caretaker, shuffled in with his mop and usual frown. “You’re early,” he muttered, then saw the gap. The mop halted. “Oh.” He tapped the lock; intact. “Only me and Mrs Patel have keys. It was there last night. I locked up at nine.”

“Could someone have propped the door?” Maya asked. A smear bloomed on the pane, a crescent fingerprint. Along the base sat a thread of ribbon—electric blue, the captain’s—caught on the felt. “We should tell someone.”

They turned towards the stage. Behind the curtain: cables coiled like sleeping snakes; the lectern waited; the sound desk murmured. Maya could still hear last night’s echo, the chant that had surged like a tide. Not lost, she thought. Taken.

“Find Mrs Patel,” Mr Briggs said, patting his pockets for the right keys. “I’ll check the side doors. No one gets in or out without me seeing.”

In the corridor, the bell bleated its first warning. On the varnished floor lay a tiny crescent of metal. She picked it up; it was cold.

At the end of the corridor, the trophy wall watched her with photographs and silver plates. The Harris Cup, the Netball Plate, the Swimming Relay baton—present, straight, proud. One space remained stubbornly bare. Somewhere a door slammed. Maya squared her shoulders and walked towards the office, her steps steady, her mind crammed with questions she wasn’t quite ready to ask—yet.

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

Option A:

The stadium holds its breath. Floodlights pour a hard, white light over the goalmouth, turning each blade of grass into a sharp line. The net hangs behind the posts like a pale curtain, twitching slightly in a thin, evening wind. The penalty spot is a small, scuffed scar. Around it, the pitch smells damp and clean, and the crowd’s noise is a murmur, a tide rolling in and out.

The referee lifts the whistle. One shrill note cuts the air; it slices the soft noise into pieces. The first kicker starts—tiny, careful steps that become longer. Studs tap, tap. The keeper bounces on his toes, arms wide like a dark-winged bird. Thump. The ball flies low, too quick to follow. The net puffs. A roar climbs out of the seats, warm and ragged, and then fades, leaving echoes trapped under the roof.

There is a pause before the next. Gloves squeak as the keeper rubs them together; he breathes, he waits. Choices feel like corridors: left, right, centre. He tries to read the hips, the eyes, the shake of a shoulder, but the ball on the spot seems to glow with its own calm, a small moon in the grass. Who blinks first?

One after another they come. A cool, dragging run-up; a rocket into the top corner. A hopeful chip that bobbles and sneaks under the keeper’s arm. The post sings—ping—and the ball spins away like a fizzing coin. Someone stutters then steadies, and the crowd groans before the shot even lands. Each kick is simple and not simple; tiny details grow huge, and time stretches like elastic.

By now, everyone is tight with silence. The final kicker stands alone. He smooths the spot with his boot. The whistle blows again, thinner now. He moves. The keeper guesses right—dives right—fingertips brushing. For a second the stadium is a held note. Then the save; a smack of palm, a skid, a scramble. Sound crashes back in waves. The net trembles without a ball, and the night exhales.

Option B:

Morning made the school hall look cleaner than it really was. Sunlight slid through the high windows and spilled across the parquet, catching on the trophy cabinet so the glass shone like water. Inside were silver cups and brass shields, engraved names and faded ribbons. Only one thing was wrong: the space on the middle shelf was bare. The County Cup, won last night, had vanished. Gone.

I stood with the key warm in my palm, not sure whether to breathe or shout. The cabinet door was ajar, the little brass lock hanging like a loose tooth. When I touched it, it tapped the glass with a thin, disappointed sound. Lemon polish hung in the air. Last night the hall roared as Tom lifted the cup; the ribbons trembled like fireworks. I locked it. Didn’t I?

On the shelf a faint circle showed where the base had been. Two fingerprints shone - oily, careless. A thin scrape curved along the frame, as if someone had dragged something hard. The window above the stage stood open a little; cold air made the curtains quiver. My footsteps sounded enormous. If Mr Golightly came now, he would think I’d done it. I swallowed and looked for a sign, any sign: a ribbon, a scuff, something that made sense.

Something pale lay under the radiator - a strip of blue cloth. I crouched and pinched it free. A ribbon, frayed at one end, as if torn in a hurry. Behind me, a door clicked. "You’re early," a voice said, too casual in the empty hall. I straightened, the ribbon crushed in my fist.

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

Option A:

The stadium holds its breath. Floodlights glare down like white moons, making the grass shine wet and sharp. The goalmouth looks too big and too small; a white frame, a thin net twitching in the night. The penalty spot is a pale coin pressed into the turf. Somewhere a drum thuds, and the noise folds into hushed air.

First kick. The taker walks out alone, boots scuffing, laces double-knotted. He counts his steps - four back, one to the side - then stands there, shoulders square. His chest lifts, falls. Breathe in, breathe out. The referee's whistle touches his lips: time stretches thin. He begins his run. Not fast, measured; the ball rolls up to meet him. His foot is a hammer, the sound a clean, flat thwack that splits the silence.

The keeper had been dancing on his line, arms wide like wings. He dives left, a smear of colour, and the ball swerves right, inside the post. Net ripples. A delayed roar rises, a wave that shakes the seats.

Then another. And another. Boots knock against studs; gloves slap the bar; numbers flip on the big screen. One is ballooned over; the groan is thick, almost painful. Another is rolled too softly; the keeper smothers, ball trapped like a caught bird. It comes down to the last one.

Finally, our captain. He places the ball carefully, like a promise. He nods, he runs, he shoots. For a heartbeat there is nothing, then it hits the net with a dull clap. The stadium exhales. Breathe out.

Option B:

It was gone: the trophy. The glass case yawned like an empty mouth, its velvet cushion flat and cold. Last night it had shone like a small sun beneath the strip-lights; this morning only smeared fingerprints clouded the pane.

Mia stood very still. Her breath fogged the reflection; her heart clattered like dropped cutlery. Around her the sports hall smelled of polish and stale popcorn from last weeks match, banners hung tired and blue, and the clock ticked too loud. “It can’t be,” she whispered, though the echo came back anyway.

Before the ceremony at nine, the captain was meant to carry the silver cup onto the stage—lift it, smile, shine. Instead: emptiness. Coach Harper strode past barking to volunteers, while Mr Dunn the caretaker rattled keys and looked surprised, too surprised. Mia noticed how his shoes left damp half-moons on the floor.

Meanwhile, a clue: on the lino lay a thin thread of red ribbon, curled like a question mark. It wasn’t their colour. By the door, a sticky trail glimmered where someone had spilt orange juice and then stepped through. There were marks, not quite footprints, just smudges in a hasty line.

Mia swallowed her fear. Who would take a trophy that belonged to everyone, and why do it now? Outside, rain brushed the windows; inside, whispers began to grow—accusations, guesses, excuses. There was only an hour until the announcer tapped the mic, until the seats filled, until faces turned. She pulled her sleeves down, steady, and decided to start looking.

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

Option A:

The stadium holds its breath. Floodlights spill over the box; the goal looks huge and small at once. The white spot is scuffed, chalk dust on my studs. The keeper claps his gloves—slap, slap—bouncing. I breathe in; I breathe out. Behind the net, flags twitch, a river of faces, a low hum.

First, their striker. His shoulders are tight. He walks, stops, stutters; swings his foot. The ball skids low to the left; our keeper guesses and palms it away, and the crowd explodes into a raw cheer that shakes the seats. I swallow hard and my throat feels dry.

Then ours, then theirs. It becomes a rhythm: whistle, run, thud, net. One of ours kisses the post; one of theirs clips the bar and flies up like a frightened bird. My legs tremble, my hands are fists in my sleeves; the floodlights glare harsh, they sting my eyes.

Finally, me. The world shrinks to ball and goal. The keeper points right, trying to dig into my head. I put the ball down, I count three steps. I choose. I run. Foot meets ball with a dull boom and it spins low to the corner; the net ripples and releases the breath of the stadium.

Option B:

Monday morning smelled of polish and orange juice from the canteen. The trophy cabinet by the office window usually caught the light and threw it back like a shout. Today it felt quiet. Fingerprints smeared the glass and the lock hung, twisted. I looked for the silver cup that stood in the middle on blue velvet.

The trophy was gone.

Mrs Patel, the headteacher, pressed her lips into a thin line. Mr Doyle, the caretaker, rattled his keys and muttered that he locked it last night; he always does. Their voices echoed, but no one looked at me.

I am captain of the girls' football team. We won that cup in summer, under a heavy sun, and we promised to keep it safe. It couldn't just walk away. Could it? I pressed my palm to the glass and felt the cold, then noticed a grey trail on the floor—dust dragged into a crooked line, leading past the noticeboard. A red thread lay there too, like a warning flag. My heart thudded. Clues, I thought, clues.

Then the bell screamed for registration. Feet rushed. If the trophy was missing, there would be blame. I made a plan: follow the trail.

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

Option A:

The goal looks huge and small at the same time. The posts are white. The net hangs like a bag. The grass is dark and wet. The crowd is everywhere, a noise.

The ball sits on the spot. It is still. The ref blows and points. My heart is like a drum, it wont stop. The striker steps back, one, two, three steps. He bounces, left and right, left and right, left and right. He stares at the keeper.

He runs. Feet, muddy studs. The keeper on his line, jumping, shouting. Hands out. He dives early, I think, maybe not, I dont know, it all goes slow then fast. The foot smacks the ball, a thud, a snap of boot. Low to the left.

It skids. Fingers reach. A touch? No? The post is there, the net shakes, the crowd holds there breath, then they roar. Some cheer, some boo.

Option B:

The hall smelled like polish and old wood. It's glass door was open. The trophy was gone. It was shinning yesterday like a small sun. Now there was a dust ring, like a mouth. It looked sad.

Gone. Just gone.

Mr Carter stared at me, then at the gap, then back at me again, his eyes big. "Where is it?" he said. I didnt know. I looked at the floor and at my shoes.

The football final was on Saturday, the cup was for us, for school, and now it was not here, it was just gone, I could feel the space, it was loud. My heart thumped like a drum.

I thought, we have to find it, before assembly tomorow. So I made a small plan: check the hall, ask Liam, he seen it last, follow the muddy marks - a clue maybe.

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

Option A:

I stand behind the white line. The net look big but also small. The crowd is loud, it goes up and down like a drum. My hands sweat and my foot is heavy. The whistle goes. I run, I hit the ball. It rolls fast, the keeper dives, he is like a long shadow, and I can't breath. The post is close. It hits, a ding, or maybe not, I think it goes in. People jump and someone drops chips, salt on the floor. The next player walks slow, his face pale. We wait again, noise noise, bright lights, cold air, my heart bumping.

Option B:

Morning. The trophy case in the hall was open and the shiny trophy was gone. It was suppose to be there for assembly, the big gold cup with names. I stare at the empty shelf, it looks like a mouth with no teeth, like in a cartoon. Sir says keep calm but my hands are shakey. The bell goes and kids shout and my stomach growls because I didnt eat, the bus was late. I think who took it or maybe it walked off, that sounds dumb. We was ment to win again today. I listen for a step, a click, nothing, the hall is breathing heavy.