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 had been the purpose of the narrator’s last visit?: to return the book lent to the narrator – 1 mark
• 1.2 What, according to the lines, was being discussed casually?: the poetry of Sir Walter Scott – 1 mark
• 1.3 What idea did the narrator conceive?: to make a present of "Marmion" – 1 mark
• 1.4 After returning home, what did the narrator do?: instantly sent for the smart little volume – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

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

1 My last visit had been to return the book she had lent me; and then it was that, in casually discussing the poetry of Sir Walter Scott, she had expressed a wish to see “Marmion,” and I had conceived the presumptuous idea of making her a present of it, and, on my return home, instantly sent for the smart little volume I had this morning received. But an apology for invading the

6 hermitage was still necessary; so I had furnished myself with a blue morocco collar for Arthur’s little dog; and that being given and received, with much more joy and gratitude, on the part of the receiver, than the worth of the gift or the selfish motive of the giver deserved, I ventured to ask Mrs. Graham for one more look at the picture, if it was still there.

11 “Oh, yes! come in,” said she (for I had met them in the garden). “It is finished and framed, all ready for sending away; but give me your last opinion, and if you can suggest any further improvement, it shall be—duly considered, at least.”

How does the writer use language here to present the narrator’s visit and feelings? 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 the long, multi‑clausal opening builds a breathless, self‑conscious eagerness, tracing diction from casually discussing to instantly sent and the self‑rebuke in presumptuous idea and ventured, while the metaphor apology for invading the hermitage (echoing the chivalric Sir Walter Scott/Marmion register) and the concrete pretext of a blue morocco collar reveal his guilty desire to impress. It would also comment on the balanced comparison more joy and gratitude... than... deserved, the parenthetical aside (for I had met them in the garden), and the shift to controlled direct speech—Oh, yes! come in, shall be—duly considered, at least—to show Mrs. Graham easing his tension yet retaining authority.

The writer uses metaphoric diction and precise modifiers to present the narrator’s eager yet self‑conscious visit. He calls it the “presumptuous idea” of buying “Marmion”, acknowledging social overstepping, while “instantly” in “instantly sent” betrays impatience. The affectionate diminutive “smart little volume” tries to sanitise bold desire with a genteel gift, revealing care shadowed by anxiety about propriety.

Moreover, the metaphor “invading the hermitage” makes her home a sacred retreat and his visit a trespass, the religious “hermitage” clashing with militaristic “invading”. To legitimise the intrusion he “furnished” himself with “a blue morocco collar”—a formal, transactional verb and exotically specific noun phrase that signal calculated diplomacy. A semantic field of exchange—“given and received”, “worth of the gift”—alongside the confession of a “selfish motive”, creates self‑deprecating irony; the clause “much more joy and gratitude… than… deserved” foregrounds embarrassment and guilt, so the reader senses both integrity and longing.

Furthermore, the extended, multi‑clausal opening with repeated “and” (polysyndeton) mimics tumbling, justificatory thought. Structural asides—“(for I had met them in the garden)” and the dash in “shall be—duly considered”—register nervous tact. In direct speech, Mrs Graham’s cordial imperative “come in” and the professional “finished and framed” raise the stakes, as he “ventured to ask” for “one more look”; the verb “ventured” crystallises trepidation. Thus, the language presents a visit driven by ardour but moderated by scruple.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would explain that the long, multi-clause opening sentence and adverbs like "instantly", plus self-critical lexis ("presumptuous idea", "selfish motive"), show flustered eagerness and guilt, while the metaphor "invading the hermitage" and precise detail "blue morocco collar" present the visit as a nervous intrusion disguised by a token gift, reinforced by the tentative verb "ventured". It would also note how dialogue and punctuation shape tone: the welcoming exclamation "Oh, yes! come in" contrasts with the hedged modal and dash in "it shall be—duly considered, at least", suggesting friendly openness tempered by reserve.

The writer uses first-person narration and complex sentence structure to present the narrator’s mixed feelings during the visit. The long, multi‑clause opening, linked by semicolons, mirrors his anxious overthinking and eagerness. His lexical choices, such as “presumptuous idea” and the adverb “instantly,” show excitement and self‑consciousness: he is keen to please her with the “smart little volume” yet aware he may be overstepping.

Furthermore, metaphor and evaluative language convey guilt and respect. Describing his call as “invading the hermitage” suggests he feels he is trespassing on a private space, which makes his “apology… necessary.” The precise noun phrase “blue morocco collar” implies careful, slightly contrived planning, a pretext to visit. The self‑deprecating aside that it was received with “more joy… than the worth of the gift or the selfish motive of the giver deserved” highlights his humility and conflicted motive. Similarly, the verb “ventured” conveys his nervous hesitancy in asking to “look at the picture.”

Additionally, direct speech and punctuation present a warm reception that eases his anxiety. Mrs Graham’s exclamatory “Oh, yes! come in” and the imperative “give me your last opinion” suggest welcome and respect for his view. The alliterative “finished and framed” emphasises neat completion, while the dash in “shall be—duly considered” adds a lightly humorous, polite tone, calming the narrator’s earlier tension.

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’s word choices like "presumptuous idea" and the metaphor "invading the hermitage" suggest the narrator feels awkward and guilty about the visit; the long, flowing sentence with repeated "and" shows his nervous, rushed excitement, and the concrete detail "blue morocco collar" suggests he uses a small gift as an excuse. Meanwhile the polite dialogue "Oh, yes! come in" and the phrase "finished and framed" present Mrs Graham as welcoming and confident, which calms his feelings.

The writer uses emotive and metaphorical language to show the narrator is nervous about the visit. Calling his plan a “presumptuous idea” and saying he needed an “apology for invading the hermitage” makes the house seem private, so his visit feels bold and guilty; he brings a “blue morocco collar” and “ventured to ask” for another look.

Moreover, the long first sentence, with lots of clauses, lists his actions: he “instantly sent for the smart little volume.” This fast pace suggests eagerness to please her. He admits a “selfish motive of the giver,” which shows mixed feelings and self-criticism.

Furthermore, the direct speech presents Mrs Graham as welcoming: “Oh, yes! come in.” The parenthesis “(for I had met them in the garden)” and the dash in “shall be—duly considered” create a chatty, relaxed tone. Overall, the language presents a careful visit and hopeful feelings.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: Identifies simple word choices like “instantly sent,” “presumptuous idea” and “apology for invading the hermitage” to say the narrator is eager but awkward. Notes features such as “I ventured to ask,” the direct speech “Oh, yes! come in,” and long, joined sentences to suggest politeness and nervousness.

The writer uses adjectives and verbs to show the visit and feelings. Words like “presumptuous idea” and “instantly” show he is eager but unsure. The phrase “invading the hermitage” is a metaphor that makes the visit seem bold, into a private place. Also, the gift, a “blue morocco collar”, shows he tries to apologise. The verb “ventured” suggests nervousness. Furthermore, direct speech “Oh, yes! come in” presents Mrs Graham as welcoming, and “duly considered” sounds polite. The long opening sentence makes his thoughts run on, showing his excitement.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Long, multi-clause sentence with repeated conjunctions creates a breathless, eager flow of thought, showing premeditated haste (instantly sent for)
• Self-deprecating lexis signals unease about overstepping and invites sympathy for his scruples (presumptuous idea)
• Metaphor and loaded verb cast her space as private and his approach as intrusive, heightening tension (invading the hermitage)
• Precise, luxurious noun choice turns the token into a calculated, respectable pretext for visiting (blue morocco collar)
• Balanced comparison undercuts his gesture by contrasting reaction, value, and motive, suggesting self-critical honesty (joy and gratitude)
• Tentative verb choice portrays his caution and deference in approaching her request (ventured to ask)
• Parenthetical aside adds a confiding, conversational tone while neatly situating the scene (for I had met them)
• Warm, exclamatory direct speech instantly relieves suspense and presents her as welcoming (Oh, yes! come in)
• Paired finality and impending removal create urgency and a sense of last opportunity (finished and framed)
• Dash and formal politeness imply measured control and playful restraint in her response (duly considered)

Question 3 - Mark Scheme

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

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

You could write about:

• how calm shifts throughout the source
• how the writer uses structure to create an effect
• the writer's use of any other structural features, such as changes in mood, tone or perspective. [8 marks]

Question 3 (AO2) – Structural Analysis (8 marks)

Assesses structure (pivotal point, juxtaposition, flashback, focus shifts, mood/tone, contrast, narrative pace, etc.).

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would analyse how calm is established, briefly disturbed, and restored through structural framing and pacing: the meeting 'met them in the garden' and the stillness of the 'finished and framed' picture create a slow, ordered start, while measured sequencing—'then silently turned over the leaves', 'then closed the book', 'quietly asked the price of it'—maintains a steady rhythm that tempers the first-person narrator’s rising emotion. Tonal shifts in dialogue ('in a tone of soothing softness', 'a most angelic smile') culminate in the cyclical closure 'let us be as we were', returning the scene to equilibrium.

One way in which the writer structures the opening to generate calm is through retrospective exposition and measured hypotaxis. The very first sentence—“My last visit had been to return the book she had lent me; and then it was that…”—layers clauses to slow the narrative pace and frame events as already settled. This reflective analepsis, alongside parenthetical asides “(for I had met them in the garden),” situates the scene within polite, orderly routine. Even the shift of focus to the artwork—“It is finished and framed”—presents a composed, contained object, whose completeness and framing mirror the controlled tone, soothing the reader before any conflict arises.

In addition, the central section employs step-by-step sequencing and micro-beats to decelerate action. The narrator charts his movements procedurally—“then pulled out the book, turned round, and put it into her hand”—while her responses unfold in calm stages: “A momentary blush… she gravely examined… then silently turned over the leaves.” Such temporal markers and repeated “then” create a measured rhythm. Structural shifts in focus between object (picture, book), internal resolve (“The more plainly and naturally the thing was done, the better, I thought”), and understated gestures (“looked at the carpet,” “quietly asked the price”) diffuse potential tension into routine observation.

A further structural choice is to localise disturbance and close with cyclical resolution. The brief spike of repetition—“Why cannot you? … ‘Why cannot you?’ I repeated”—is promptly moderated by tags that regulate tone: “in as calm a tone as I could command,” and her “tone of soothing softness.” The turning point—“Well, then, I’ll take you at your word”—functions as a pivot into denouement, culminating in the cyclical reassurance, “let us be as we were,” and the handshake as a composed coda. The sustained first-person retrospective perspective and final self-restraint (“refrain”) reassert control, restoring an overall sense of calm.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 3 response would identify a calming arc: the scene opens serenely—meeting “in the garden” by the “hermitage” to admire a “finished and framed” picture—then briefly unsettles through the awkward gift (“hot blood”, “irascibility”) before tone and dialogue soothe (“quietly asked”, a “tone of soothing softness”, an “angelic smile”) and equilibrium returns with the handshake and “let us be as we were.” It would explain how this progression from tranquil set-up, to mild conflict, to resolved ending structures the whole extract to create an overall sense of calm.

One way in which the writer structures the text to create calm is the reflective exposition and steady chronology at the start. The narrator looks back to “my last visit” and, in a long, carefully balanced sentence using past perfect verbs (“had been… had expressed… had conceived”), explains how the gift arose. This controlled, linear sequencing (“this morning”) slows the pace and establishes a composed, courteous tone that reassures the reader.

In addition, the writer inserts a descriptive pause that shifts the focus to the picture. The framed scene is “strikingly beautiful”, and attention to “artist’s pride” and “my looks” creates a still, tableau-like moment that soothes before dialogue. Even when speech begins, calm is maintained by dialogue tags: she “quietly asked the price”, he answers “in as calm a tone as I could”, and she speaks with “soothing softness”, which moderates feeling.

A further structural choice is the arc from brief tension to resolution. The sharp interjection “Nonsense!” is quickly counterbalanced by conciliatory turns, culminating in an “angelic smile” and the agreement to “let us be as we were”. This resolution, reinforced by “placing her hand in mine”, creates a cyclical return to harmony that leaves the reader calm.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer begins with gentle, orderly moments in the garden, casually discussing poetry and lingering on the "strikingly beautiful" picture to slow the pace and create calm. This calm briefly dips with tense dialogue ("the hot blood rush to my face") before the structure restores it at the end through "a tone of soothing softness," "a most angelic smile," and "let us be as we were."

One way the writer structures calm is at the beginning, using a slow explanation of the visit. The long opening sentence and polite setting (“met them in the garden”) steady the pace, and the focus on the finished picture “strikingly beautiful” creates a quiet, composed mood.

In addition, in the middle the writer slows the pacing with step-by-step actions and dialogue. The repeated “then” (“turned over the leaves; then closed the book”) and tags like “quietly asked” and “as calm a tone as I could” make the exchange feel controlled, which calms the reader.

A further structural feature is the ending, which gives resolution. There is a shift in focus from disagreement to peace when she gives an “angelic smile” and says, “let us be as we were.” The handshake acts as a simple ending, returning things to normal and restoring calm.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would notice that calm comes at the start with welcoming, orderly details like come in and finished and framed, then after a brief upset it returns at the end through gentle dialogue such as quietly asked, in a tone of soothing softness, and let us be as we were, which reassures the reader.

One way the writer structures calm is at the beginning, by focusing on background and the garden and the finished picture. The long opening sentences feel steady, which makes a quiet, calm start.

In addition, the middle uses dialogue and small actions to slow the pace. Pauses like her looking at the carpet and quietly asking the price make it gentle, keeping the mood calm.

A further structural feature is the ending, which returns to calm. They agree to be “as we were” and shake hands. Ending on this agreement leaves the reader peaceful.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Retrospective opening in past perfect frames the scene as already settled, creating an initial stillness (My last visit had been)
• A courteous pretext for entering the “hermitage” lowers stakes and sets a considerate mood (apology for invading)
• The garden-to-interior welcome and the completed artwork impose order, supporting calm through closure (finished and framed)
• A contemplative pause to admire the painting acts as a quiet interlude before the gift exchange (strikingly beautiful)
• A step-by-step sequence of small actions slows pacing, keeping events methodical and composed (looked out of the window)
• Turn-taking dialogue is formal and measured, with soft adverbs maintaining composure (quietly asked)
• Brief friction is contained by self-regulation and tonal softening, preventing escalation (more mildly)
• Mid-scene de-escalation via a gentle voice soothes the atmosphere and steadies the exchange (soothing softness)
• Resolution comes through reciprocity, a smile, and a restoring phrase, returning relations to equilibrium (as we were)
• The closing emphasis on restraint in physical gesture leaves a muted, tranquil ending (difficulty to refrain)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 36 to the end.

In this part of the source, the narrator is extremely embarrassed when Mrs Graham offers to pay for the book. The writer suggests that this awkward moment shows how social differences can make friendship difficult.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of the awkward moment between Mr Markham and Mrs Graham
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray the difficult nature of their relationship
• support your response with references to the text. [20 marks]

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

Evaluate texts critically and support with appropriate textual references.

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed evaluation) – 16–20 marks Perceptive ideas; perceptive methods; critical detail on impact; judicious detail. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would argue that, to a large extent, the writer presents social difference as a barrier to friendship, using transactional lexis—refusals to be under obligations, insistence to pay, fear of setting a precedent—that clashes with Markham’s wounded pride in the hot blood rush to my face and irascibility. It would also note how tonal and power shifts (her soothing softness versus his plea not to punish my presumption) imply gendered propriety and romantic restraint as co-causes, complicating a simple class-based reading of the awkward moment.

I largely agree that the narrator is acutely embarrassed and that the writer uses this awkwardness to expose how social codes and differences strain friendship, though the closing détente suggests such tensions can be tactfully managed.

From the outset, embarrassment is foregrounded through visceral, first-person narration: at Mrs Graham’s “quiet” request for the “price,” Markham feels “the hot blood rush to my face.” This physiological blush, coupled with the abrupt, stichomythic exchange—“Why cannot you?” “Because,—she paused”—conveys rising social discomfort. Her averted gaze, “looked at the carpet,” is a paralinguistic cue of delicacy, while his “irascibility” and the brusque ejaculation “Nonsense!” amplify the awkward asymmetry of feeling and decorum.

Crucially, the writer structures the scene around a semantic field of transaction—“price,” “pay,” “purse,” “money,” “obligations,” “precedent,” “favours”—to dramatise the social economy governing their bond. Mrs Graham’s scruple, “I don’t like to put myself under obligations that I can never repay,” encodes gendered and class anxieties: a gift implies indebtedness and potential presumption. Her “coolly counted out the money” contrasts with his confession that he was “ready to weep with disappointment and vexation,” a juxtaposition that both heightens his mortification and gives her moral authority. Even the narrator’s epithet “the odious money” registers his recognition that the coin has become a symbol of social distance, not gratitude.

The power dynamic subtly shifts through conversational form. His exclamation is met by her “quiet, grave surprise,” a silent rebuke that reins him in; her “tone of soothing softness” manages his pride without ceding principle. Markham’s insistence, “I do understand you, perfectly,” rings ironically: the adverb exposes his self-assertion as much as his insight. Yet his attempt to invert the hierarchy—“the obligation is entirely on my side,—the favour on yours”—shows a conscious effort to disarm the transactional logic that threatens their friendship. The dash-laden syntax and her faltering “that—that I—” encode tension and tact as both grope for terms that preserve intimacy without impropriety.

Finally, the resolution—her “most angelic smile,” the returned money, and “let us be as we were”—restores equilibrium through ritual gestures (the handshake) and mutual boundary-setting (“remember!”). His hyperbolic metaphor—this “premature offering had well-nigh given the death-blow to my hopes”—confirms that the social code around gifts nearly sabotages both friendship and nascent courtship.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: the episode makes his embarrassment palpable and demonstrates how obligation and status anxieties complicate friendship; yet the conciliatory ending implies that respect and clarity can mitigate, though not erase, those social frictions.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: Typically, a Level 3 response would mostly agree, explaining clearly that the narrator’s embarrassment and rising tension ("hot blood rush to my face", "ready to weep", "irascibility") show how worries about "obligations" and feeling "insulted" make friendship across social differences awkward, using the tense dialogue and first person narration as evidence. It would also acknowledge balance by noting the conciliatory "angelic smile" and the pact to "be as we were", suggesting the difficulty can be managed despite the differences.

I largely agree with the statement. The narrator’s embarrassment is clear, and the writer uses the awkward exchange about money to expose how ideas of obligation and propriety complicate their friendship.

At the moment Mrs Graham “quietly” asks the price, the narrator’s physical reaction—“the hot blood rush to my face”—is vivid sensory imagery that signals intense embarrassment. The dialogue then heightens the discomfort: his repeated question, “Why cannot you?” and the admission of “irascibility” show tension rising. In contrast, Mrs Graham’s body language—she “looked at the carpet”—suggests her own unease. This interplay of dialogue and gesture creates an awkward mood that feels socially charged.

The writer develops the theme of social difference through Mrs Graham’s principled refusal: she won’t “put [herself] under obligations that [she] can never repay.” The formal lexis (“obligations,” “repay”) hints at the codes governing class and gender. Markham’s blunt “Nonsense!” clashes with her “quiet, grave surprise,” a juxtaposition of registers that underlines their differing perspectives. Structurally, the dashes in her speech—“Because,—she paused”—and later, his own dash-filled assurances, capture hesitation and miscommunication. His confession that he was “ready to weep with disappointment and vexation” shows that the embarrassment has become emotional turmoil, while she “coolly” counting the money implies control and distance.

Although the tension eases—her “angelic smile” and “let us be as we were” restore surface harmony—the narrator’s aside that this “premature offering had well-nigh given the death-blow to my hopes” reveals a romantic subtext. The metaphor of a “death-blow” shows that his embarrassment is not only social but personal, which further strains any “friendship.”

Overall, I agree to a great extent: the writer clearly presents an awkward, embarrassing scene where money and obligation expose social differences that make friendship difficult, even as the narrator’s pride and romantic hopes intensify that difficulty.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A typical Level 2 response would partially agree, noting the narrator’s embarrassment — "hot blood", "irascibility" — and Mrs Graham’s wish to avoid "obligations" by offering "odious money", with simple comments on how dialogue like "Why cannot you?" and the look of "rebuke" show awkwardness from social differences. It would also notice the reconciliation — "let us be as we were" and an "angelic smile" — to suggest friendship is strained but still possible.

I mostly agree that the narrator is extremely embarrassed and that the writer uses this awkward exchange to show how social differences make friendship difficult.

At the start, the first-person confession “hot blood rush to my face” clearly signals intense embarrassment. The dialogue is strained: Mrs Graham “quietly asked the price,” then “paused, and looked at the carpet,” effective body language showing discomfort. Markham’s repeated question, “Why cannot you?”, and the exclamation “Nonsense!” reveal irascibility and loss of control, building the awkward tone.

The money becomes a symbol of social rules. Mrs Graham refuses to be “under obligations” she “can never repay,” which shows strict expectations. The adverb “coolly” in “coolly counted out the money,” and her “hesitated to put it into my hand,” suggest distance and a barrier between them. Markham’s formal, persuasive language—“no precedent for future favours” and “the obligation is entirely on my side”—shows he knows the etiquette but feels hurt; he is “ready to weep with disappointment and vexation.”

By the end, the tension eases, which slightly challenges the statement. Her “most angelic smile” and “let us be as we were” show reconciliation. However, the metaphor “death-blow to my hopes,” and his restraint from “suicidal madness,” show how risky the breach felt. Overall, I agree to a large extent: through first-person narration, dialogue, and emotive language, the writer presents an embarrassing scene where social differences strain, but do not destroy, their friendship.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response would simply agree that social differences make friendship difficult, pointing out the narrator’s embarrassment ('hot blood rush to my face', 'ready to weep') and the awkward money/obligation issue when Mrs Graham tries to 'pay for the book' and says she won’t 'put myself under obligations'. It would use these basic references, plus Markham’s 'Nonsense!', to show the moment is awkward without deeper analysis.

In this part of the text, I mostly agree that the narrator is very embarrassed, and the awkward moment shows how social differences make friendship hard. When Mrs Graham “asked the price of it,” he says “the hot blood” rushed to his face. The writer uses dialogue and questions to build the awkward feeling. Markham repeats “Why cannot you?” and she “paused” and “looked at the carpet,” which shows both of them feel uncomfortable.

Mrs Graham’s reason, that she does not like “obligations,” suggests money matters. He snaps “Nonsense!” and the adjectives “quiet, grave” in her “surprise” are like a rebuke. The verbs and adverb “hesitated” and “coolly” show she stays calm, while he is “ready to weep with disappointment and vexation.”

At the end, there is some repair with an “angelic smile” and the line “let us be as we were.” However, the narrator is “too much excited to remain” and calls a kiss “suicidal madness,” which suggests rules between them. Overall, I agree: the writer’s use of dialogue, repetition and descriptive words shows embarrassment and social differences in their friendship.

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:

• Embarrassment made visceral through self-report → his physical surge of shame intensifies the awkwardness and supports the claim that social codes obstruct ease (hot blood rush to my face)
• Repetition and clipped questioning in dialogue → sharpens misunderstanding and signals mismatched expectations that strain their friendship (Why cannot you?)
• Boundary-setting around obligation → her insistence on payment presents friendship as conditional on propriety, foregrounding social difference (unless I pay)
• Controlled nonverbal rebuke → her composure contrasts with his irascibility, amplifying his mortification and the social gap he feels (quiet, grave surprise)
• Transactional lexis of debt/favour → shows both are calculating precedent and status within the relationship, complicating easy intimacy (no precedent for future favours)
• Hyperbolic self-critique → inflates a small misstep into catastrophe, suggesting pride and desire—not just social codes—fuel the awkwardness (suicidal madness)
• Pause and downward gaze as stagecraft → dramatises restraint and unspoken rules constraining both parties (looked at the carpet)
• Money counted with humane hesitation → conveys her empathy even as she maintains a boundary, making the moment awkward rather than cold (hesitated to put it)
• Persuasive inversion of obligation → he seeks equal footing to rescue the friendship from hierarchy, revealing awareness of social pitfalls (obligation is entirely on my side)
• Conciliatory close with handshake → suggests differences can be negotiated, so the writer partly refutes the idea that they make friendship impossible (let us be as we were)

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

At your local animal shelter's annual fundraiser, short creative pieces will be read out to guests.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a quiet moment at a busy animal shelter from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about choosing the perfect pet.

(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:

Between visiting hours, hush arrives unannounced and sits down in Pen Six. The shelter—so often a mouthful of clatter—closes its teeth on the noise; even the strip-lights hum as if practising a whisper. On the shelf-bed, a ginger cat has found the centre of a blue fleece and folded himself there, a neat parcel of warmth with sleep tucked in.

Sunlight trickles through wire and glass, combing gold through his marmalade fur. Dust drifts in the beam: delicate, heedless. The air is clean with disinfectant and a faint, honest musk—shampooed straw, warm kibble, damp paws. From behind the office door, the refrigerator breathes; the wall clock scolds the seconds; a distant dog coughs, then stops.

He is called something temporary on a laminated card; names here are soft pencil. One ear is notched—history folded into a single, tidy V. His whiskers are pale punctuation, arranging this pause; his closed lids flicker once, then settle. In and out, in and out: the small bellows of his ribs inflate the blue.

Meanwhile, the world holds itself still. Mops lean in a quiet parliament. Stainless-steel bowls are stacked like moons; syringes sleep in their blister packs; the whiteboard waits—intake, meds, adopted—its scrawl already half erased. A volunteer’s jacket hangs like a shed skin. For a moment, even the door stops rehearsing its bang.

I crouch, gloved hands suspended, not wanting to puncture the calm. So near, I can hear the cat’s purr—subterranean, intermittent, the low engine of contentment. He kneads the fleece once, a slow, careful movement, and the fabric answers. The blue looks colder under him, bluer, as if he has pocketed a sunbeam.

Outside these bars, routine will resume its tide; it always does. Feet will squeak; keys will chatter; voices will tilt—kindness, urgency, instruction. Yet the shelter has its secret intervals, its held breaths, and this is one of them—liminal, balanced, a thin-edged peace that a latch-click could shatter.

Beyond the cats’ room, a dog turns in its bed, the thud of its tail a single, satisfied note. The rabbits rustle straw like paper in a library. Somewhere a phone buzzes and then quiets. Here, the ginger cat sleeps on, oblivious, a small constellation on a thrift-store sky. I let the moment measure me: in, out; in, out. When I stand, the world remembers itself—louder, brighter, necessary—but a sliver of hush stays stitched into the blue.

Option B:

Saturday. The day of small decisions that become large; rows of cages, watchful eyes, the rustle of sawdust; promises whispered between fingers and fur. Sunlight ribboned across the reception desk as if tying the place up with a bow.

As the automatic doors exhaled, the centre gave us its smell: disinfectant, warm hay, and something indefinable—hope, perhaps. Fluorescent lights hummed; water filters murmured. My stomach hosted a small zoo: butterflies and a jittery mouse jostling.

Mum nudged me forward; my list (folded until soft as fabric) pressed against my palm. Requirements: small; calm; flat-friendly; not too nocturnal; likes reading. I knew that last one was ridiculous, yet I wanted quiet company beside my notes, a presence that understood stillness.

After Orion—my goldfish who kept time with his tail while I learned equations—floated into that incomparable silence, I promised I would not choose on impulse. Sensible first, sentimental later, I told Mum, pretending I wasn’t thirteen and impatient.

‘What are you looking for today?’ asked the woman at the desk, her lanyard ticking like a metronome. ‘Perfect,’ I said, and winced. How do you ask for perfect without sounding like you mean impossible? Reena, according to her badge, didn’t laugh; she led us past portraits of ex-residents, names printed like blessings.

First, the cats. Sunlit slinkers and duvet divas, all liquid grace and deliberate disdain. A marmalade youngster batted my shoelace; a dignified grey blinked at me as if to say, Not you. I pressed my fingers to the mesh; whiskers quivered; a pink nose tested me. Dad’s allergies—there it was, the quiet veto—stood between us like glass.

Further on: hamsters spinning night into thread; a gecko with comma-toes; a tortoise with eyes like old coins. Each creature offered a version of companionship. I tried to weigh them—pros, cons, care sheets, cost—but affection refused to sit obediently in columns.

And then, in the rabbit room, a small brown shape sat with one ear like an exclamation mark and the other like a question. He lifted his chin—imperious, inquisitive—then hopped to the front. ‘That’s Fig,’ Reena said. ‘Reserved three times; returned twice. He chews textbooks.’ She laughed; I didn’t.

I slid my hand towards the bars. Fig sniffed, decided, and pressed his warm velvet nose to my knuckles. The buzzing lights blurred; the room stilled; time slowed to a crawl the way it does when you put your finger on a hinge and feel a door begin to move.

‘He’ll need space and a routine,’ Reena was saying, pragmatic words threading my reverie. ‘We can do that,’ Mum replied before I could overthink. I took a breath—long, necessary—and ticked a box on the softened list, ink dark and decisive. Perfect, I realised, wasn’t spotless or simple; it was recognition.

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

Option A:

For a breath and then another, the shelter forgets itself. In the long corridor, the air loosens; the clatter of bowls is filed away, doors stop shivering, and the great tumble dryer, faithful beast, yawns into silence. Quiet arrives sidelong, a small courtesy rather than a fanfare. A clock on the wall — plastic, practical — ticks with schoolroom seriousness. Light slips under the roof vents and lays itself in clean stripes on the lino; dust swings slowly through it, unhurried.

On a blue fleece folded to a patient square, a ginger cat sleeps. He is a comma in the sentence of the day; everything essential folds inside his curve. One forepaw caps his nose; the other loosens, slack. A purr threads the room, almost theoretical; a small engine turning because it can. His breath is a metronome: in, pause, out. The blanket drinks his warmth; the colour — oceanic, cooling — makes his fur seem to glow.

Beyond him, the shelter holds itself still. The scent is a blend: antiseptic lemon, hot laundry, the animal musk that is not unpleasant, only honest. Somewhere a tap debates a drip; the drip wins, one cautious note at a time. Labels band the cages; hand-scrawled names tilt at angles (some tidy, some determined). A volunteer pads past, shoes abandoned for stealth; she smooths a sheet, signs, and, without thinking, lowers her voice. Even speech obeys the hush, shrinking to fit it.

It is not emptiness; it is a held breath. Between the morning’s clatter and the afternoon’s decisions, there is this: an interval where stories rest their weight. The dogs, percussion a minute ago, surrender to slow rhythms — a sigh, a shuffle, a snore like sand. Quiet sews a seam through separate lives, tugging edges closer so they do not fray.

The cat stirs. A dream tugs his claws open; he kneads the air, patting something you cannot see, then stills. An ear swivels towards the hint of returning noise — a van door, a key in the lock. Time gathers again. Soon there will be footsteps, bright voices, the metal song of latches; for this precise, ordinary minute, there is sufficiency. There is the blue square, the warm ginger coil, and the thin gold of light holding both together. There is kindness doing its quiet work.

Option B:

The bell above the door tinkled like a nervous laugh when we stepped into the pet shop. Banks of tanks glowed; filters purred; the warm air smelled of sawdust and lemon. Feathers drifted. Somewhere behind the counter, a single bark popped—surprised, quickly soothed. I thought, absurdly, that I could see my future floating there with the guppies: bright, flicking, elusive.

I wanted perfect. Mum wanted sensible. Between those two words was a trembling bridge, and I had to cross it without falling into the very human habit of choosing with my heart and explaining with my mouth.

Mum had said, "Small, quiet, manageable," in that measured voice she reserves for bills and life lessons. What did perfect even mean? A creature that never scratched a sofa, never shed, never woke at three? One that would adore me, always? Perfect is a word that preens itself; animals do not. They chew, they moult; they sing at inconvenient times. To take one home is to promise something enormous: time; money; patience; your life stretched to fit another rhythm.

I moved past the glass. Neon tetras drifted like living confetti; a betta, crimson and vain, fanned itself as if made of silk. No mess, Mum murmured; no cuddle either. The hamsters were a different story. One barrelled in its wheel with heroic focus, paws a blur, pausing only to cram a seed into cheeks that ballooned until it looked smug. What energy! The lop-eared rabbit, the colour of toast, pressed a nose to the bars and thumped once—warning or greeting?—then settled, ears folding like tired umbrellas.

"Looking for anything in particular?" the man at the counter asked, his apron spangled with seed.

"Something perfect," I said, and heard how silly it was.

He smiled. "Sometimes the perfect one is the one that needs you."

The sentence rearranged something. I noticed a cage half in shadow beneath the rabbit pens: a small guinea pig, like a crumpled leaf. One ear was nicked; his coat a half-painted muddle of caramel and charcoal. When I crouched, he pretended not to care. Then his whiskers reached for me, testing the air, and he pressed a warm nose to my finger.

Mum exhaled. "They squeak at night," she warned, yet her voice had softened.

What if I choose wrong? What if I choose right? The questions fluttered. He looked up again. My bridge stopped trembling.

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

Option A:

The air tastes of disinfectant and wet fur; somewhere a dryer hums. Between these sounds, a quiet holds. On the lower shelf of a metal enclosure, a ginger cat curls into the shape of a moon, anchored on a creased blue blanket, his tail a lazy comma. Sunlight slips through the wire like pale ribbons and rests on his flank, warming the marmalade fur until it looks almost molten.

Beyond the door, the day races — bowls clatter, collars chime, a puppy yaps down the corridor — but here it is slow. The cat breathes in and out, in and out, a tide going and returning. Every so often an ear flicks, a whisker quivers at a dream the way a leaf trembles in a breeze. He purrs low, a faint vibration you feel before you hear it; it settles in the palms, it calms.

A volunteer pauses in the doorway, rubber gloves half-off, shoulders rounded by lists and laundry. She stands, listening, and the shelter seems to pause with her, as if the building itself had taken a breath. Quiet here is not nothing: it is paws tucked under, eyes shut, blue blanket rucked into safe folds. She strokes the cat’s head with careful fingers. The fur is warm and oily, familiar; it leaves a trace on the skin that is oddly nice.

Posters ripple on the noticeboard; a laminated name dangles, Hazel, with a scribbled note: shy at first. Keys knock a rhythm against her belt. Across the room a clock trudges through its minute, patient. Light creeps along the concrete and climbs the bars in a thin ladder, moving imperceptibly. The cat yawns, brief and extravagant, a pink petal of tongue, then tucks himself tighter and sinks.

From the kennels, a chorus rises again, bowls again, footsteps again, and the phone rings. The volunteer straightens, binds her gloves, turns. The hush frays at the edges but doesn’t snap. In the pen, on the sky-coloured blanket, the ginger cat sleeps on, as if he were the still point around which the rest turns. For now, that is enough.

Option B:

Saturday. The day of decisions; rows of small hearts beating behind glass, tiny worlds stacked like shoeboxes, a new friend waiting—somewhere. Outside, the sky was a clean, rinsed blue; inside, the air smelled of hay and warm dust and something faintly sweet.

As hamsters rattled their wheels and parakeets rehearsed tiny arias, I pushed the pet shop door. The bell over my head trembled like a coin. Tanks blinked with rectangles of water; cages whispered with straw. 'Take your time,' said Mr Patel from behind the counter. 'Looking for anything in particular?' 'The perfect pet,' I said, which sounded dramatic and yet true.

First, the fish. They drifted like painted leaves; neon stripes flickered; the filter hummed its underwater song. I liked their quiet, their cerulean calm, but their world was a glass book I could only read with my eyes.

Next, the hamsters: diminutive engineers, cheeks brimming with sunflower plans. One sat quite still, then exploded into motion—sand-sprays, tunnel-building, wheel-spinning. I admired their industry; concurrently, I imagined midnight rattling when essays were due. Would I be the kind of person who sleeps while my pet wakes?

By the leads, a poster showed a smiling, muddy dog: Adopt, Don't Shop. I felt the tug of dawn walks, rain-slick pavements, loyalty that demands discipline. A dog is not a chapter; it is a novel—long, devoted, sometimes arduous. Mum's eyebrows would rise at the mud; my timetable already bristled with exams. Not now, perhaps.

At the back, half-hidden, a cage the size of a small suitcase held a cat the colour of burnt toast. She was arranged like a comma, one cautious eye open. When I came close, the eye narrowed—not unfriendly, more quizzical. I touched the wire; she sniffed, breathed a warm question against my skin. Something in me loosened.

Not too noisy, not too needy, not too new. Still a challenge, still a promise. 'Her name's Soot,' Mr Patel said gently. 'She's older, but steady.' The word settled like a pebble; circles spread, patient and clear. Perhaps the perfect pet wasn't perfect at all; perhaps it was the one that looked back.

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

Option A:

For a moment the shelter holds its breath. The corridor, usually busy with boots and voices, lies in a soft pause; doors are shut, and a strip of pale sun runs along the floor like a quiet ribbon. In the cat room a ginger shape is curled on a blue blanket, a neat comma of fur. His side rises and falls. Above him a fan murmurs on. Outside, the last bark thins, as if it rests too.

A hundred small sounds begin to surface: a stainless-steel bowl taps; a page on the noticeboard rustles; water trickles somewhere behind a wall. They don’t crowd me, they soothe me. The air smells of disinfectant and warm fur—sharp, then soft. My fingers leave a pale print on the glass, then fade. A volunteer’s trolley squeaks past the door; it pauses, then the squeak fades. Dust floats, tiny planets moving through the gold. I am almost still, not frozen, just held in this narrow, tender silence.

The cat twitches an ear. He stretches one paw and kneads the blanket like dough, a slow, sleepy rhythm. His fur is a warm orange, stripy and untidy; his whiskers flick in the light. I glance at his card: Copper; three years old; found straying. Such a small history for a whole life. He sighs and tucks smaller, as if remembering something cosy. The blue looks deeper beside him, almost like the sea; he’s a little boat that doesn’t need to move.

In the office someone laughs, distant and careful. A phone rings once and stops. The quiet lifts but does not break. I press my hand to the cool door and imagine it opening later: new footsteps, choosing voices, a promise. For now there is only his breathing, steady and soft, and a hope that grows, simply, in the pause.

Option B:

The bell over the door chimed as we stepped into the pet shop, and the warm, dusty air smelled of hay, biscuits and that damp fish‑tank tang. Sawdust scuffed under my trainers; tanks hummed; somewhere a puppy squeaked and then went shy. A row of cages blinked at me, silver bars catching the light. I gripped my list. At the top, in thick pen, I had written: Perfect Pet. Underneath, I’d drawn a little box to tick, as if it was simple.

Mum nudged me with her elbow. “Remember,” she whispered, “choosing a pet is like choosing a friend: you don’t pick the loudest one, or the prettiest—you wait for the right hello.” Goldfish turned together like coins sliding in a fountain. Rabbits, all twitch and whisker, nibbled with quiet concentration. A parrot eyed us with a tilted head and coughed a word that sounded suspiciously like “biscuit”. Everything seemed to be offering itself, sparkling, and somehow I felt less sure.

I had made rules, careful ones: no animals that need miles of running; nothing that sheds everywhere; nothing that bites; and definitely not something that could escape and surprise Nana. Mr Patel, the owner, appeared from behind the counter with his apron sprinkled in seed. “Looking for the perfect match?” he asked, as if he could read the bold letters at the top of my page. I nodded, trying to look deliberate rather than nervous.

He led us to the pens at the back. Three puppies tumbled over each other like socks in a tumble dryer; a fourth sat apart, paws neatly folded, watching without blinking. There was a thin white line on his nose—a small scar, a story I didn’t know yet. I crouched. He didn’t leap; he simply leaned forward, patient, and breathed on my fingers. His tail gave a single hopeful thud. Perfect, I thought, is not flawless. It’s the moment something fits.

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

Option A:

Quiet, at last. The shelter settles like a tired chest, breathing slow. A fan hums; a fluorescent strip buzzes. Disinfectant hangs, sharp and clean, over linoleum that shines where sun sneaks through the mesh. On a blue blanket, a ginger cat is folded into warmth. His sides rise and fall, rise and fall. One pink ear flicks. The tag on the pen clinks once and is still.

A minute ago there were echoes: bowls clattering, a spill of paws, the rough chorus of kennels. Now the barking drifts off like weather at the edge of town. I kneel by the bars. Rusty — that’s the name on the card — opens one honey eye, then closes it again, trusting. The blanket is a small sky, puckered where he kneaded with neat paws. His whiskers tremble, as if in a dream. He purrs, a little engine under my hand.

Meanwhile the corridor holds still: a trolley waits; a mop leans; posters stare down. Maybe a kettle clicks, or it is only the clock with its tired tick, tick. The building seems to hold its breath, and I match it — breathe in, breathe out, breathe in. Fur and dust and the warm biscuit scent of food sit in the air. Then the moment loosens. A bark swells; a door sighs open; voices return. Rusty stretches and tucks tighter into the blue. The noise rises, but this square of quiet stays, small and soft, for a second longer.

Option B:

Saturday smelt like toast and wet pavement; it felt like a decision. Today I would choose the perfect pet. Me and Mum talked about responsibility all week, a word with heavy shoes. I made a list: calm, friendly, not too big, not too small—not too loud, not too fragile. I wanted a pet that would listen; I wanted a friend.

The bell on Paws & Claws jangled as we pushed in, and a warm rush of sawdust and shampoo met us. Cages murmured. Wheels squeaked. Fish-tanks hummed. Hamsters tumbled like crumbs of toast. A parakeet blinked, green as a traffic light. Cats curled like commas in the window, blinking in sleepy rhythm, while the dog corner barked in different keys.

Firstly, I stood by the fish. Silver bodies flickered like coins in a fountain. They were delicate, but the glass felt cold. We had a goldfish once—Rocket. He lasted three days; I cried and promised never again. Then the rabbits: clouds with ears, noses twitching, the softest fur. But they nibbled and hopped away; did they even see me? I wanted a pet that looked at me as if it knew my real name.

I turned to go, tired of choosing, and then I saw him. A small ginger cat with one bent ear and a patient blink. His card said: Milo, four, gentle. I crouched. He leaned forward; it's whiskers trembled against my hand, like a question mark. The shop noise faded for a second. Maybe perfect isn't shiny or new—maybe it's quiet, and brave enough to stay.

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

Option A:

The shelter is busy, but this corner rests. Fluorescent lights hum above; corridors lined with pens and posters. On a low shelf, a ginger cat curls on a blue blanket, a neat comma of fur. His ears are tucked, his paws hidden; the blanket looks like a small sea under him.

At first, there is only breathing, in and out, in and out, a quiet metronome. A thin stripe of sun sneaks from a high window, landing on his back. The smell is a mix of disinfectant and warm fur, rubber gloves, biscuits. A trolley squeaks and then is still. Somewhere, a dog barks once, then stops. The fridge hums, the clock ticks; my steps slow.

Then the moment deepens. His whiskers tremble, as if chasing a kind dream. I watch his chest rise, fall; a tiny purr vibrates the blanket like a small engine. Volunteers whisper, their voices soft as tissue. Bowls clink; it feels far away—softened.

For a minute, the shelter is a living room. I imagine a lap, a window with ordinary rain. He opens one eye, calm, then closes it. The busy day waits outside the bars, patient, not unkind.

Option B:

Saturday. The bell above the pet shop door pinged and I stepped into the warm, dusty air. Sawdust drifted like tiny snow. Tanks hummed; cages rattled; somewhere a small bird sang.

I told myself I needed the perfect pet. Perfect means simple, friendly, not too noisy—and something Mum won't call "a disaster". Fish drifted, all silver coins turning. Their world was calm, but could I talk to a fish? A hamster shuffled in a plastic tunnel, whiskers twitching like music notes. Cute, yes, but it sleeps all day.

"Take your time," the shop keeper said. Her smile was gentle, practicle. She pointed to different homes: glass tanks, wire cages, a tall aviary. How do you choose when every pair of eyes is asking you to take them home?

Then I saw the lizard in the corner terrarium. Its skin glistened like old leaves, eyes slow and wise. A gecko. It stared straight at me, and didn't blink. I liked its quiet, its careful climb. But Dad says we can't have heat lamps in the flat.

So I kept walking, past the rabbits, past the bright parrots, until a soft nose pressed the bars. A small grey cat—waiting. Suddenly it felt almost right; almost perfect.

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

Option A:

The shelter is loud in the day. Today it is late, the hall is dim. A ginger cat sleep on a blue blanket. It is warm and soft, like bread. His paws curl. His eyes shut tight. The smell is like straw and soap.

Dogs are somewhere, far down, but now they don't bark, only a small whine, then it stops. Someone sweep the floor, the brush goes swish, swish. I stand still because the floor squeak and I don't want to wake him; he is a tiny boat on a quiet pond.

Light comes from a small window. It lays on his fur and it is orange on orange. I can hear his soft snore, like a bee in a jar and it makes the busy place feel far. Everything slow. I wait and look and I feel calm, like the room is holding it breath.

Option B:

Saturday morning and the pet shop smelt of sawdust and warm cages. The bell pinged. I was looking for the perfect pet. My hands were sweaty like I was doing a test

How do you even pick one? Fish flickered like coins, but they didn't hug you. A rabbit blinked slow, soft as a cloud. A puppy stared at me with button eyes, tail drumming, my heart beat a bit fast, I smiled, I bit my lip.

Me and Mum had a list: not too big - not too messy, not too loud. She said we was not made of money. I said I would walk it everyday and clean up, I would.

Perfect means it fits. Perfect means it chooses you, I think.

I crouched by the glass. The puppy paw slided down and my hand went up to meet it like a mirror, was that a sign. It was definately looking at me

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

Option A:

The ginger cat is curled on a blue blanket. It is warm. The room is busy but it is quiet now. I hear a fan and a soft purr. The cages has bars and names. A poster of a rabbit is on the wall. A dog coughs then it go still, like it knows. I look at the cat and the eyes are closed, the whiskers move a bit. The light is dull. My hand rests on the blanket, it is soft, it is a bit rough. Outside a car goes by, then nothing, just the clock tick tick.

Option B:

Saturday. The pet shop was bright and full. I stand at the door and I look in, cages in rows and glass that shine like water. I want the perfect pet, the one that is mine, the one that fits in my hands. A dog barks and a bird go cheep cheep, the fish swim like coins. Im thinking of my cousins rabbit, it ran away, then I think about my school bag on the bus, heavy to carry. What do I pick. It needs to be quiet and fun, not too big, not too small, just right, I dont know.