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 shape was the flower-bed?: Oval-shaped – 1 mark
• 1.2 About how many stalks rose from the flower-bed?: Perhaps a hundred – 1 mark
• 1.3 Where were the leaves on the stalks?: Half way up – 1 mark
• 1.4 Which colours are named for the petals?: Red or blue or yellow – 1 mark

Question 2 - Mark Scheme

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

1 From the oval-shaped flower-bed there rose perhaps a hundred stalks spreading into heart-shaped or tongue-shaped leaves half way up and unfurling at the tip red or blue or yellow petals marked with spots of

6 colour raised upon the surface; and from the red, blue or yellow gloom of the throat emerged a straight bar, rough with gold dust and slightly clubbed at the end. The petals

11 were voluminous enough to be stirred by the summer breeze, and when they moved, the red, blue and yellow lights passed one over the other, staining an inch of the brown earth beneath

How does the writer use language here to present the flowers and the play of light and movement? 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 anatomical metaphor and personification (e.g., "heart-shaped or tongue-shaped leaves"; the "throat") and tactile imagery ("rough with gold dust") humanise the flowers and confer preciousness, while dynamic verbs ("unfurling", emerged, stirred) and the long, cumulative sentence with a semi-colon mirror the play of light and movement. It would also explore the triadic, polysyndetic colour listing "red, blue or yellow" and metaphors such as "passed one over the other" and "staining an inch of the brown earth beneath", showing how light layers like pigment to create a prismatic, shifting scene.

The writer animates the flowers through anatomical metaphor and sensuous diction. Leaves are “heart-shaped or tongue-shaped”, and from the petals’ interior “gloom of the throat” there “emerged a straight bar”, rendering the bloom like a living body. The dynamic verb “emerged” suggests birth, while “throat” and “gloom” imply hidden depth beneath the brightness. The fronted prepositional phrase “From the oval-shaped flower-bed” positions the reader at the edge, initiating a careful, close inspection.

Moreover, vivid colour imagery is intensified by polysyndetic listing and tricolon: “red or blue or yellow”, later “red, blue and yellow”. The rhythm stresses pure, primary hues. “Spots of colour raised upon the surface” creates a synaesthetic effect, turning colour into texture; “raised” implies embossing. Likewise, “rough with gold dust” blends texture with opulence, while “slightly clubbed at the end” adds botanical precision—a blunt note that offsets the petals’ softness.

Additionally, the play of light and movement is choreographed through participles, personification and fluid syntax. Verbs such as “spreading”, “unfurling” and “stirred” connote gradual, tender motion, and “voluminous” likens the petals to fabric lifted by the “summer breeze”. The long cumulative sentence, with repeated “and” and a guiding semi-colon, creates a rolling cadence that mirrors swaying. Finally, “lights passed one over the other, staining an inch of the brown earth” personifies light; “staining” gives it agency, while “an inch” sharpens focus to the minute.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Shows clear understanding; explains effects; relevant detail; clear and accurate terminology. Indicative Standard: Using vivid colour imagery and precise sensory detail, the writer describes the flowers unfurling at the tip with repeated primary colours red or blue or yellow to show richness, while metaphors like the gloom of the throat and tactile detail rough with gold dust make the blooms feel alive; the dynamic verbs and metaphor staining an inch of the brown earth show the play of light as petals move, stirred by the summer breeze. The long, flowing sentence with lists of shapes such as heart-shaped and tongue-shaped, and a cumulative structure, builds a sense of abundance and continuous movement as the lights passed one over the other.

The writer uses vivid colour imagery and listing to present the flowers as abundant and intricate. The repeated polysyndeton in “red or blue or yellow” builds variety, while the present participles “spreading” and “unfurling” suggest slow, continuous growth. The phrase “spots of colour raised upon the surface” adds tactile detail; “raised” implies texture so the reader can almost feel the petals.

Furthermore, personification and metaphor make the flowers seem bodily and alive. The “gloom of the throat” gives the blossom human anatomy, drawing us inward, and from it “emerged a straight bar, rough with gold dust”. The precise noun phrase and tactile adjectives create solidity, while “gold dust” connotes richness, elevating the pollen and making the scene seem precious.

Moreover, the play of light and movement is conveyed through dynamic verbs and sentence form. The petals are “voluminous enough to be stirred by the summer breeze”, creating a gentle mood. As they move, “the red, blue and yellow lights passed one over the other, staining… the brown earth”: the metaphor “staining” shows colour overlapping. The long, flowing sentence mirrors this gradual motion. Together, these choices present the flowers as living and the light as fluid.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment on effects; some appropriate detail; some use of terminology. Indicative Standard: Identifies colour imagery and sensory detail: the repetition of red, blue or yellow, plus description like rough with gold dust, and the number perhaps a hundred, make the flowers seem vivid and plentiful. Notes movement and effect through verbs unfurling and staining, and a simple metaphor gloom of the throat, to show gentle motion and light shifting; may mention long, flowing sentences mirror this movement.

The writer uses descriptive adjectives and verbs to present the flowers. “Oval-shaped flower-bed” and “perhaps a hundred stalks” create a sense of abundance, while “spreading” and “unfurling” suggest gentle movement. The shapes “heart-shaped” and “tongue-shaped” give clear imagery and make the flowers feel alive.

Furthermore, personification is used with body words like “the throat” of the flower. The “red, blue or yellow gloom” adds depth, and the “straight bar… rough with gold dust” makes the centre seem rich and textured. This suggests delicate beauty.

Additionally, the play of light and movement is shown when “the petals were voluminous” and “stirred by the summer breeze”, which feels gentle. As they move, “red, blue and yellow lights passed one over the other, staining an inch of the brown earth”. The verb “staining” suggests colour layering. The long sentence mirrors the flowing motion.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple comment; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 1 response might spot simple descriptive choices, noting a list of colours like "red, blue or yellow" and adjectives such as "voluminous" to show bright, big flowers, with the "summer breeze" suggesting gentle movement. It may also mention basic imagery in "rough with gold dust" and "staining an inch of the brown earth" to show the light spreading.

The writer uses adjectives to describe the flowers. The words 'oval-shaped', 'heart-shaped' and 'tongue-shaped' give simple, clear shapes so the reader can picture them. Moreover, colour imagery like 'red or blue or yellow' and 'spots of colour' makes the flowers bright and lively. The noun 'throat' and the phrase 'gloom of the throat' is like personification, making the flower seem alive. Furthermore, verbs of movement such as 'stirred' and 'passed' show gentle motion. Additionally, 'staining an inch of the brown earth' suggests the light leaves a soft mark.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Cumulative listing and upward verb build abundance and rising motion (there rose perhaps a hundred stalks)
• Precise, anthropomorphic shape adjectives humanise the foliage and add sensuality (heart-shaped or tongue-shaped leaves)
• Present participles suggest continuous, delicate growth unfolding in real time (unfurling at the tip)
• Textural detailing makes colour tangible, adding three-dimensional vividness (raised upon the surface)
• Tactile and opulent lexis contrasts with fragility, enriching sensory appeal (rough with gold dust)
• Anatomical metaphor and shadow deepen the image, contrasting brightness with depth (gloom of the throat)
• Hard-edged lexis within a floral context introduces solidity amid softness, creating inner contrast (slightly clubbed at the end)
• Subordinate clause signals a structural shift from static description to motion (and when they moved)
• Triadic primary colours reframed as lights emphasise overlay and reflection, producing a painterly effect (the red, blue and yellow lights)
• Impactful verb suggests lasting, saturated colour falling on the ground, anchoring the spectacle (staining an inch)

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 story.

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

You could write about:

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

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

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

Level 4 (Perceptive, detailed analysis) – 7–8 marks Analyses effects of structural choices; judicious examples; sophisticated terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 4 response would identify a whole-text zoom and shift in focalisation: from the impersonal drift of light that 'moved on' across leaves to Simon’s analeptic recollection 'Fifteen years ago I came here with Lily' with its circular motif ('the dragonfly went round and round'), so structure mirrors memory circling back to the past. It would also show how the perspective widens again as the figures 'diminished in size' and 'half transparent', and as Eleanor names them 'one's past' and 'ghosts lying under the trees', deepening nostalgia from fleeting sensory glints to haunting, fading presences.

One way the writer structures the text to create nostalgia is through a gradual shift in focus that mirrors the drift of memory. The opening sustains external focalisation on the flower-bed, using extended, flowing clauses to slow the narrative pace. This delayed introduction of people until “men and women who walk in Kew Gardens in July” frames the garden as timeless, a repository for recollection. The narrative zoom moves from minute petals to a panoramic sweep of passers-by, preparing a contemplative, elegiac tone in which the present becomes a stage for the past.

In addition, the writer uses analepsis, signalled by explicit temporal markers: “Fifteen years ago…” and “twenty years ago…”. Structurally, there is a marked shift from third-person description into free indirect thought and then direct dialogue, layering past over present. The parallelism of “For me…” and the juxtaposition of Simon’s “square silver buckle” and dragonfly with Eleanor’s “kiss” creates a duet of memories, deepening nostalgia through contrast and symmetry. The parenthetic aside “or I shouldn’t be walking here with Eleanor and the children” fuses timelines, while Eleanor’s summation—“those ghosts lying under the trees”—universalises their private reminiscences, recasting the living crowd as embodiments of the past.

A further structural feature is the tapering coda: after the recollections, “They walked on… and soon diminished… half transparent.” This visual dissolve reprises the earlier play of light and shade, completing a cyclical pattern from impersonal nature to intimate memory and back to transience. The decelerated exit and diminishing figures leave the reader with a lingering wistfulness, as nostalgia intensifies into the sense that moments, like people in the garden, fade into light and shadow.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant explanation) – 5–6 marks Explains effects; relevant examples; clear terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would identify that the writer structures the passage by shifting from a close, impersonal focus on the oval-shaped flower-bed and recurring red, blue and yellow imagery to the couple’s memories as the breeze stirred rather more briskly, signalled by time markers like "Fifteen years ago" and admissions such as "the woman I might have married". By the end, a zoom out leaves the figures diminished and half transparent, echoing "ghosts lying under the trees" and deepening nostalgia as the vivid present blurs into the past.

One way the writer structures nostalgia is by beginning with a slow zoom from the flower-bed to the passers-by. The opening lingers on light moving across leaves and water, creating a contemplative pace. A clear focus shift occurs at 'Then the breeze...' when colour is thrown 'into the eyes of the men and women', a hinge from setting to human experience. This transition primes a reflective mood.

In addition, the writer moves from external narration to interior thought and dialogue. The temporal reference 'Fifteen years ago' triggers a flashback, and Eleanor’s 'twenty years ago' extends it. This shift in perspective slows the pace and juxtaposes the present walk with motifs from the past (the 'dragonfly', the 'square silver buckle', 'a kiss'). Framing memory within conversation broadens a private recollection into a shared meditation on 'ghosts', deepening the nostalgic tone.

A further structural feature is the final zoom-out as the family 'diminished in size' and turned 'half transparent'. This shift in focus away from speech back to the wider scene works like a fade, echoing 'ghosts' and closing with distance and loss. Placing this image at the end leaves a lingering sense of time passing, which intensifies nostalgia.

Level 2 (Some understanding and comment) – 3–4 marks Attempts to comment; some examples; some terminology. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would notice the shift from the setting of the oval-shaped flower-bed to the couple’s thoughts, with the time marker "Fifteen years ago I came here with Lily" signalling nostalgia. It might simply point out how the text returns to the present as they walked on and looked half transparent, and how brief echoes like "For me, a kiss" make the memories feel stronger by the end.

One way in which the writer has structured the text to create nostalgia is by beginning with a slow description of the flower-bed before shifting focus to people in “Kew Gardens in July.” This change in focus sets a calm, reflective pace. When we move onto the couple, the mood feels dreamy, ready for memories.

In addition, the middle uses time references and flashback. Simon thinks, “Fifteen years ago I came here with Lily,” and Eleanor adds “twenty years ago.” This structure and the use of dialogue let us hear their memories directly, creating a longing for the past and deepening nostalgia.

A further structural feature is the ending image. After the memories, the focus returns to the garden as they walk away, becoming “half transparent.” At the end, this return to the present shows how the past still shadows them, so the sense of nostalgia becomes stronger.

Level 1 (Simple, limited comment) – 1–2 marks Simple awareness; simple references; simple terminology. Indicative Standard: The writer starts with the setting, From the oval-shaped flower-bed, then moves to the couple’s memory, Fifteen years ago I came here with Lily, to show they are thinking about the past and create nostalgia. At the end, They walked on and are diminished in size, so the moment feels like it is fading, which makes the nostalgic mood stronger.

One way the writer structures nostalgia is by starting with the garden and then shifting focus to the couple. This opening description then moves to the people, which makes the reader think back with them.

In addition, the writer uses time phrases like 'Fifteen years ago' and 'twenty years ago' to go back in time. The talking lets Simon and Eleanor remember, creating a nostalgic mood.

A further structural feature is a change in focus: first Simon’s memory, then Eleanor’s. At the end, they 'diminished' and looked 'half transparent', which makes them look like memories and makes the nostalgia stronger.

Level 0 – No marks: Nothing to reward.

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

• Nature-focused opening delays human presence to frame a timeless stage for memory, priming a wistful mood (From the oval-shaped flower-bed)
• Tracking of light and breeze guides a slow zoom from petals to people, bridging impersonal scene to personal recollection (into the Kew Gardens in July)
• Staggered positioning of the couple creates emotional distance and a pocket for introspection, foreshadowing the turn to memory (six inches in front)
• Sudden analepsis via interior thought marks a temporal pivot, installing the past within the present walk and making nostalgia explicit (Fifteen years ago)
• Object-fixed recollection structures the memory around precise images, intensifying selective longing through repeated focus (square silver buckle)
• Snap back to the present through direct address shifts from solitary musing to shared negotiation of the past, deepening reflective tone (Tell me, Eleanor)
• Perspective widens as Eleanor universalises memory, turning private reminiscence into collective, spectral nostalgia (those ghosts)
• Parallel analepsis from Eleanor mirrors Simon’s, creating a duet of pasts whose alternation layers and deepens the nostalgic arc (six little girls)
• Present-tense interruption by parenting re-anchors the reverie in the now, heightening the bittersweet pull between past and present (Come, Caroline, come, Hubert)
• Closing zoom-out renders the figures fading from view, echoing the opening distance and leaving a lingering, vanishing-afterimage of memory (half transparent)

Question 4 - Mark Scheme

For this question focus on the second part of the source, from line 51 to the end.

In this part of the source, Eleanor's most important memory of a kiss is from an old woman, not a romantic partner. The writer suggests that the events that truly shape us are often surprising and unexpected.

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

In your response, you could:

• consider your impressions of Eleanor and her memory of the kiss
• comment on the methods the writer uses to portray the significance of this kiss
• 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 to a great extent that the writer validates the view that formative events are unexpected, noting how Eleanor’s most significant memory is the non-romantic a kiss, there on the back of my neck from an old grey-haired woman with a wart on her nose, elevated to the mother of all my kisses all my life, ritualised by marked the hour... for five minutes only, and embodied in my hand shook all the afternoon. Juxtaposed with Simon’s idiosyncratic emblems—a square silver shoe buckle and a dragonfly—this shows the text privileges surprising, sensory fragments over conventional romantic milestones.

I agree to a large extent that the writer suggests the moments that truly shape us can be surprising and unexpected, and Eleanor’s “most important” kiss being from “an old grey-haired woman” foregrounds this. Through juxtaposition, stream-of-consciousness narration and striking imagery, the passage contrasts conventional romance with an unanticipated formative encounter, inviting us to reassess what counts as significant.

The section opens in free indirect discourse with Simon’s reverie about Lily. His memory is anchored in synecdoche and symbol: “a square silver shoe buckle” stands for Lily, while the “dragonfly” that “went round and round” becomes a motif for the contingency of fate. His superstitious conditional—“if it settled… she would say ‘Yes’”—exposes how arbitrary signs shape life-choices. The dash and aside, “—of course not, happily not,” shows retrospective revaluation: chance that once disappointed is now welcomed because it leads to “walking here with Eleanor and the children.” Structurally, this prepares Eleanor’s counter-memory via neat parallelism: “For me, a square silver shoe buckle and a dragonfly— / For me, a kiss.” The echo establishes a pattern of talismanic moments before the text subverts expectations about what a formative “kiss” might be.

Eleanor’s account is charged with sensory immediacy and surprise. The adverb “suddenly” signals the unanticipated nature of the kiss, and its precise placement “on the back of my neck” creates an intimate, tactile jolt, intensified by the physical aftermath—“my hand shook all the afternoon”—which evidences lasting impact. The setting—“six little girls… painting the water-lilies, the first red water-lilies I’d ever seen”—surrounds the shock with the innocence of childhood and an aesthetic awakening, amplifying its strangeness. Crucially, the kisser’s description—“an old grey-haired woman with a wart on her nose”—deliberately undercuts romantic cliché. The metaphor “the mother of all my kisses all my life” reframes the encounter as generative and originary; it becomes the template by which later, ostensibly more ‘romantic’ kisses are understood.

More broadly, Eleanor’s earlier rhetorical questions—“Doesn’t one always think of the past… Aren’t they one’s past… one’s reality?”—universalise the point: identity is made of such charged fragments. The closing imagery extends this idea; as the family “diminished” and grew “half transparent” beneath light and shade that “swam… in large trembling irregular patches,” personification and visual instability suggest how lives are shaped by transient, irregular impressions. While Simon’s near-proposal shows conventional romance can also be formative, the writer’s structural juxtaposition and symbolic choices strongly support the view that the most decisive imprints may arrive from unlikely sources.

Overall, I agree to a great extent: Woolf’s juxtaposition, free indirect discourse, and metaphorical framing convincingly show that what most deeply forms us is often unexpected, fleeting, and defiantly unromantic.

Level 3 (Clear, relevant evaluation) – 11–15 marks Clear ideas; clear methods; clear evaluation of impact; relevant references. Indicative Standard: A Level 3 response would largely agree that the writer presents unexpected moments as most shaping, noting Eleanor’s a kiss from an old grey-haired woman with a wart on her nose as the mother of all my kisses, not a romantic partner. It would clearly explain methods with relevant examples—her physical reaction hand shook all the afternoon and controlled reflection marked the hour ... five minutes only—and may contrast with Simon’s vivid dragonfly to show how small, surprising details leave lasting impact.

I largely agree with the statement. The writer deliberately contrasts Eleanor’s memory with Simon’s to show that the moments that define us can be surprising. Structurally, Eleanor’s “For me, a kiss” follows Simon’s romantic recollection of a proposal, creating a clear juxtaposition. Where Simon’s memory is framed by conventional romantic imagery (“a square silver shoe buckle and a dragonfly”), Eleanor’s centres on “the kiss of an old grey-haired woman with a wart on her nose.” The unexpected details in these adjectives challenge idealised notions of romance and support the idea that significance can arise from unlikely sources.

The writer uses sensory and bodily imagery to heighten the kiss’s impact. The specific placement “on the back of my neck” and the physical reaction “my hand shook all the afternoon” emphasise how deeply it affected Eleanor. The temporal detail “I took out my watch and marked the hour… for five minutes only” shows how she rationed the memory, and the parenthesis “—it was so precious—” foregrounds its value. Most convincingly, the metaphor “the mother of all my kisses all my life” elevates this non-romantic act to the origin of her later experiences, suggesting formative power in the unexpected.

The setting and structure also reinforce this. The calm listing of “six little girls… painting the water-lilies” creates an ordinary, innocent scene that is suddenly interrupted—“suddenly a kiss”—so the timing itself feels surprising. Later, Eleanor’s musing about “ghosts lying under the trees… one’s happiness, one’s reality” frames memory as what truly shapes identity, while the final image—“sunlight and shade swam… half transparent”—suggests the present is transient compared to such defining moments. Although Simon’s conventional romantic memory still matters, the writer privileges Eleanor’s unconventional kiss as more formative.

Overall, I agree to a large extent: through contrast, sensory imagery, and metaphor, the writer suggests that the events that shape us most are often unexpected.

Level 2 (Some evaluation) – 6–10 marks Some understanding; some methods; some evaluative comments; some references. Indicative Standard: A Level 2 response would show some understanding by partly agreeing that unexpected moments shape us, identifying Eleanor’s memory of 'a kiss'—'the kiss of an old grey-haired woman'—as 'the mother of all my kisses', with simple comments like her 'hand shook all the afternoon', and noting Simon’s 'a square silver shoe buckle and a dragonfly' as basic evidence that surprising details linger.

I mostly agree with the statement. The writer shows that Eleanor’s most important memory of a kiss comes from an unexpected place, and this suggests that surprising moments can shape us.

The passage sets up a contrast through dialogue. Simon remembers a typical romantic scene with Lily: “a square silver shoe buckle and a dragonfly.” This feels like the kind of memory we expect. Then the structure shifts with Eleanor’s “For me, a kiss,” which immediately challenges that expectation. This juxtaposition makes Eleanor’s memory stand out as unusual.

The writer uses sensory imagery to show the impact. Eleanor describes “six little girls… painting the water-lilies,” and “the first red water-lilies” to set a calm scene. The word “suddenly” before “a kiss… on the back of my neck” shows the shock. Her body reaction, “my hand shook all the afternoon,” proves how deeply it affected her. She even “marked the hour” to think about it, calling it “so precious,” which shows significance. The detail that it was from “an old grey-haired woman with a wart on her nose” rejects romantic clichés. The metaphor “the mother of all my kisses” clearly suggests it shaped every later experience.

Finally, the image of them looking “half transparent” as “sunlight and shade swam” hints that past and present blur, reinforcing how such moments stay with us.

However, Simon’s detailed memory also shaped him, so not all shaping events are unexpected. Overall, I agree to a large extent: through contrast, imagery and metaphor, the writer suggests surprising moments can define who we become.

Level 1 (Simple, limited) – 1–5 marks Simple ideas; limited methods; simple evaluation; simple references. Indicative Standard: At Level 1, a student simply agrees that surprising moments shape us, pointing to Eleanor’s "a kiss" becoming "the mother of all my kisses all my life" from "an old grey-haired woman with a wart on her nose". They might also note Simon’s "a square silver shoe buckle" and "dragonfly" as basic memory images supporting this view.

I mostly agree with the statement. In this part, Eleanor’s strongest memory of a kiss is not romantic. She says it was “the kiss of an old grey-haired woman with a wart on her nose,” which is surprising. The writer uses dialogue to show this, with Simon’s memory of Lily and the “dragonfly” and the “square silver shoe buckle,” then Eleanor replies, “For me, a kiss.” This contrast makes Eleanor’s memory feel unusual. There is also sensory detail: “a kiss, there on the back of my neck,” and she says “my hand shook all the afternoon,” which shows the kiss really affected her. She even “took out my watch and marked the hour… five minutes only,” showing its importance. Calling it “the mother of all my kisses all my life” is a simple metaphor that suggests this moment shaped her future feelings. The setting of “six little girls… painting the water-lilies… the first red water-lilies” adds clear imagery and makes the event feel unexpected and innocent. The line about the past as “ghosts lying under the trees” also shows how memories shape who we are. Overall, I agree that the writer suggests the moments that matter can be surprising and not what we expect.

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:

• Striking reversal of expectation (defining kiss from a non-romantic source) persuades that formative moments can be unexpected, as Eleanor’s memory centres on For me, a kiss.
• Unglamorous character detail subverts romance and heightens surprise, making the moment feel unlikely yet authentic: old grey-haired woman.
• Foundational metaphor elevates the moment above later intimacy, validating the claim that an unlikely event can shape a life: the mother of all my kisses.
• Temporal self-discipline signals overwhelming intensity and lasting significance despite its ordinary origin: five minutes only.
• Setting as catalyst normalises reflection (less “surprising”), yet the content of the memory remains startling: ghosts lying under the trees.
• Counterpoint with Simon’s omen highlights chance in life’s turns; his relief underscores unforeseen outcomes: it never settled anywhere.
• Micro-focus on trivial detail shows how small, surprising particulars crystallise memory and meaning: square silver buckle.
• Motif of irregular motion mirrors unpredictability in lives and memories, supporting the statement’s premise: zig-zag flights.
• Ephemeral visual dissolve suggests experiences flicker yet endure in us, like shaping memories: half transparent.
• Shift back to present duties balances nostalgia with ongoing life, showing the unexpected past coexisting with the now: Come, Caroline, come, Hubert.

Question 5 - Mark Scheme

A city culture project is collecting short creative pieces for a public soundscape installation.

Choose one of the options below for your entry.

• Option A: Describe a bustling 1960s café from your imagination. You may choose to use the picture provided for ideas:

• Option B: Write the opening of a story about a misunderstanding caused by technology.

(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 jukebox glows like a sherbet-coloured shrine at the room’s heart, its chrome ribs curving around a panel of blinking stars; it hums before it sings. Neon over the door fizzles—CAFÉ—above the bell that tinkles as the street breathes someone in. Smoke makes a soft weather in here, a pearly fog that twines around lacquered bouffants and the quiff of a boy; it curls and uncurls with feline patience. Across the chequerboard linoleum, polished to a weary gloss, scuffed shoes scud and halt; chairs scrape; a stool swivels and squeals. Sunlight slats through Venetian blinds, laddering the tabletops and catching on spilled sugar so it looks like frost.

Meanwhile, the waitress weaves in figure-eights, her apron crisp as envelope paper, her eyeliner flicked into wings; she carries three cups on a tin tray that tremble in their own orbit. "Two teas and a bacon roll!" she calls, bright-voiced, and the till answers with a brassy chime. By the jukebox, hands hover with small ceremony: sixpences glint; a forefinger hesitates at the plastic buttons as though choosing a secret. What are they choosing, really, but a pocket of time? A boy with a narrow tie argues for The Kinks; a girl in a polka-dot mini taps her nail against The Ronettes. A mother parks a pram and stirs her tea; an older man, trilby folded beside him, disappears behind a paper as big as a sail.

Behind the counter, an espresso machine—Gaggia, from Milan—sighs and spits; steam unfurls in white curlicues that vanish as quickly as gossip. The air is tinctured with coffee, bacon fat, warm bread; a sweetness from the cake stand lifts and settles and lifts again. A chalkboard offers neat arithmetic: Tea 9d; Coffee 1/3; Egg and chips 2/6. The proprietor polishes a small galaxy of cups, each orbiting his cloth. On a marbled Formica table a lipstick crescent stains a cup; spoon against china makes a bright clink; sugar falls and erupts into a pale storm, then dissolves without complaint. If you listen, there is a syncopation to it all: hiss, clatter; murmur, laugh; that low, insistent thrum.

Then the record drops. A first drumbeat, simple as a heartbeat, makes heads tilt; the bass plots a throb beneath the conversation; a tambourine shakes its glitter. Outside, scooters lean like apostrophes along the kerb; rain takes a run at the window and spiders down in delicate threads. Inside, the jukebox keeps its cordial glow, promising and promising. For a second it feels as if the minute hand slackens; as if the decade is waiting out there by the traffic lights. People arrive and depart, leaving a palimpsest of rings, crumbs, choruses—again and again, again and again—until even the neon seems to blink in time.

Option B:

Morning announced itself not with birdsong but with a chorus of little glass hammers: pings against the quiet, a pale, blue shimmer spreading over the kitchen like frost. On the counter, the phone glowed—obedient, insistent—its notifications stacking themselves neatly as if grief could be organised by an app. Calendar: “Grandad’s funeral, 10.00.” Taxi: “Driver arriving in 3 minutes.” Aunt Noor: “Please be on time.” Even the kettle seemed to hiss its agreement.

Maya stood barefoot on cold tiles, the hem of her black dress tucked under one elbow, a slice of toast clenched between her teeth. The house smelt faintly of starch and burnt crumbs. Her hands were all doing something at once—zip, brush, pat—yet her eyes kept dragging back to the screen as a moth might drift to a small, bright flame. It was only the family group chat; it was only her friend Saffy; it was only everything.

Two chats, almost identical circles at the top of the screen: Family: Farewell for Dada; Saffy New. Her thumb hovered, then tapped. The blender whirred a low, obstinate growl as she pressed the little microphone icon.

“Hey, Saf,” she said around the toast, “I’m trying, but this is turning into a spectacle—programmes, slideshow, hashtags and white doves; it feels so fake. I’m just going for Nana. I’ll be there soon, the bus is crawling.” She hit send without rereading because she never reread voice-to-text; the phone was supposed to do the thinking.

The message unfurled across the screen, neat as a ribbon, and her stomach undertook a slow, cold revolt. At the top, above her words, the title read: Family: Farewell for Dada. And the phone—helpful, literal—had made its own small edits.

“Hey, Saf … I’m trying, but this is turning into a spectacle—programmes, slideshow, hashtags and white doves; it feels so fake. I’m not going for Nana. I’ll be there soon, the bus is crawling.”

Not. One letter, four letters; a single inverted kindness. The blender’s drone died. The kitchen filled with the crackle of her pulse.

The chat woke at once. Cousin Aisha: “Wow.” Uncle Tariq: “Excuse me?” A vine of three grey dots sprouted and burst—Aunt Noor: “Maya, if this is a joke—” Nana’s name popped up, then disappeared, reappeared; a solitary, patient “Maya?” arrived like a whisper.

“I didn’t— I said just!” She stabbed at the keyboard, letters skittering. “I meant just! It was for Saffy—voice-to-text got it wrong; I didn’t mean fake, I meant—no, I did say fake, but not to you—well, not like that.” The sentence knotted itself, earnest and useless. She tried to undo it with reassurance: “I love you. I love Nana. I’m coming. Please.”

Too late. Messages bred messages. Screenshots were “forwarded many times.” Somewhere in another room, a door shut. The taxi driver texted, “Here.” The app suggested a neat blue button: React with a heart? It was grotesque.

She called. It rang and rang and fell into voicemail. She tried a voice note—then saw her own face reflected darkly in the black glass, heard the blender start up of its own clumsy inertia (her elbow), and swallowed the word “fake” as if she could un-say it by force. A salad of noises—tap, boil, buzz—conspired with the phone’s thin idea of listening.

Technology promised clarity; instead, it had curated a misunderstanding with algorithmic precision. And yet, she refused to let that single syllable define the day.

Maya grabbed her coat, scraped her hair back, and ran—out of the blue light, into the ordinary sky—towards the people who knew her voice before screens learned to spell it.

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

Option A:

The jukebox hums in its chrome shrine, a little cathedral of neon; ruby, lemon, turquoise panes breathe in glacial light that pencils across the checkerboard floor. A bell above the door jitters; the arriving draught worries the napkins and teases the blue-grey smoke into ribbons. Spoons tick against thick cups; somewhere a coin clatters through the mechanism—click, whirr, drop—and the needle finds the groove. A Motown chorus, all sugar and silk, floods the room, and the café exhales to its tempo: feet tap; heads nod; conversation loosens.

At the counter, a boy in a narrow tie watches his reflection in the milkshake blender; his hair is tamed by Brylcreem, his smile by nerves. Two girls in neat mini-dresses lean together, conspiratorial, winged eyeliner flashing whenever they laugh. An older couple share a plate of chips—vinegar misting the air; the man, his fingers newsprint-grey, licks the salt absent-mindedly. Mods in parkas drift through like a tide, helmets hooked at the elbow; their scooters wait outside, mirrors like fish scales catching the watery light.

Formica tables—speckled, wiped, still sticky at the edges—hold glass sugar dispensers with silver lids, salt huddled in its shaker, a pyramid of napkins. The menu under its plastic sleeve promises knickerbocker glories and frothy coffee; beneath it lies a pressed petal from last summer’s rose, or perhaps a spill flattened to a ghost. The stainless-steel milkshake beaker sweats; a straw bends obligingly; someone hums along, the taste of strawberry and cold metal a small, precise joy.

Behind the counter the espresso machine hisses and sighs like a well-bred dragon; the proprietor, sleeves rolled, coaxes the handle, tamps, twists, listens. He moves with practised economy—plates up, bell rings, order slips march along the rail. The till chatters, a neat staccato; coins ring; a child’s hand fishes for a sherbet lemon and is gently redirected. Steam fogs his glasses, then clears; he polishes them, considers the room, and calls, almost tenderly: two teas, one strong; one coffee, black.

The windows bloom with condensation, and the street beyond flattens to smudges: a raincoat, a lamppost, the suggestion of a bus. In here, time is not modern or old; it is track after track, a needle tracing a familiar circle. When the song ends there is a breath—thin, collective—before another coin slips home. Light spills, laughter tacks across the air, and the jukebox, that bright heart, goes on beating.

Option B:

Morning. The hour when everything pretends to be simple; the kettle murmurs, the radiator ticks, and the phone on the worktop blinks its small, decisive eye. Blue light spread across the kitchen tiles like frost; digital birdsong—pings, chirps, a tiny cascade of notes—stitched itself into the air. Lena stood in her socks, coffee cooling in her hands, and felt the day gather itself. There was so much to do: email Mum, book a table, breathe. But first, the message.

Her thumb hovered, then danced. Meet me at Grace’s at seven—big news. The words looked instantly weighty, like luggage placed on polished scales. Names slid up the screen in a soft procession: Grace, Gracie, Grayson. Each avatar was a small, smiling circle; each name a variation, a cousin of the right one. She tapped without thinking—just a little tap, nothing dramatic—and the bubble shot blue. Satisfied, she flicked on Focus (ironically titled), silencing all but the alarms. She felt momentarily invincible. How could a single tap matter?

Across town, Grayson’s desk was a palimpsest of paper and coffee rings. The message bloomed on his screen as if conjured: Meet me at Grace’s at seven—big news. He read it once, then again, both times hearing subtext. Employees didn’t write “big news” about minor accomplishments; the last “big news” had been a resignation. A tightness gripped his chest—not unkindness, but the quick arithmetic of a manager who cannot afford to lose another pair of hands. His reply was prim, professional, and immediate: Can you drop by at nine? Let’s talk before the day gets away from us. Calendar invite sent; subject line capitalised. Efficient, almost tender.

Grace, meanwhile, checked her phone between spoonfuls of cereal, expecting Lena’s confetti-filled enthusiasm. Nothing. The group chat fretted politely. Are we on for tonight? Grace typed, then deleted, then typed again. Bubbles pulsed and vanished. Her cat threaded itself around her ankles; the kettle clicked off; still no reply. “She’s probably on the bus,” she told the empty kitchen, not quite believing herself.

Lena locked the door behind her and stepped into a street lacquered with sunshine. Buses sighed; a cyclist glided past; the city arranged itself into a bright, purposeful grid. Her secret warmed her from the inside. She imagined the look on Grace’s face, the laughter, the fizzing of glasses. Under her thumb, the phone stayed quiet—obedient, muted, perfectly helpful.

Somewhere inside that obedience, a misunderstanding had already taken root, delicate as a typo and just as stubborn.

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

Option A:

The jukebox glows in the corner, a small theatre of colour behind glass, humming like a cat that knows it is adored. Chrome edges flash; red, green and amber bulbs wink; the black vinyl turns with a soft shiver. Cigarette smoke folds itself into the slow fans and unravels again, long ribbons that smear the ceiling. On the chequered floor, shoes scuff and pivot. Formica-topped tables jostle, sugar dispensers winking with grains like frost. Cups kiss saucers; a spoon tinks; somewhere a laugh flares, brief and bright.

Meanwhile, customers crowd the room in stripes and shine. Teenagers in narrow ties and stiff collars lean on chrome stools, their hair slick; girls in box-pleat skirts lean closer, nail varnish catching the light. A man with a folded newspaper anchors the end booth; he pretends to read, but the melody keeps trespassing. The waitress breezes past in a starched apron, and a beehive set so high it nearly grazes the lamps—‘What can I get you, love?’—pencils perched behind her ear like a wand.

At the counter, metal hisses and chatters. The coffee machine exhales in gusts; milk furls into dark, a swirl that looks almost scientific. A blender roars into the sweetest storm, thick shakes rise in pastel clouds. Under a glass dome, doughnuts sit like small planets sugar-dusted and perilous; the knife slides through a slab of Victoria sponge cleanly. The door jangles, damp air rides in from the street, trailing petrol, rain, and the metallic tang from Vespas lined outside. Coats shiver; orders overlap; change rattles into an open palm.

In the corner, the song changes: the needle lifts, pauses, drops with a soft, decisive click. She Loves You bursts out in cheerful certainty, and the room tilts towards it. Toes tap; a little boy practises the twist between his parents’ knees; the waitress conducts with her tray. Neon from the window writes its pale script on the glass, backwards, determined. For a second, everyone seems to share the same breath, caught by the same beat. Then the chorus breaks, and the café carries on, busy, ordinary, glittering like it always does.

Option B:

The phone’s blue light pooled over the kitchen table, turning my cornflakes the colour of aquarium gravel. Above it, the school’s reading app cleared its digital throat and began again, polite and robotic as a lift: “Year Ten River Trip — phones prohibited on coach; immediate confiscation for duration of term.”

It sounded so sure. The voice didn’t hesitate, didn’t blink, didn’t struggle over “prohibited” the way a person might. Meanwhile, my stomach dropped like the Wi‑Fi when everyone’s streaming. Phones prohibited for a term? For a river we were barely going to see? Absurd; unfair; impossible.

I jabbed open the group chat—River Trip 10B, with the same weary boat emoji we mocked last week—and watched the grey bubbles rise like air through water. My thumbs went faster than my head. “This is ridiculous; genuinely draconian,” I typed. “Why does Mr Patel think he can steal our phones? I’m not giving mine up, not for a day, not for a term.” A little dramatic, maybe, but the anger was hot and the send button was too green to ignore.

Whoosh. The message flew and vanished. For a heartbeat I felt lighter, as if saying it had solved it.

Except—

At the top of the chat, just under the name, there was a tiny new line I hadn’t seen: “Mr Patel added by Admin.” Overnight, apparently, the school had synced trips with the new messaging system; teachers had been plugged into every conversation. My message already wore the small “Seen 07:42” badge like a stain.

The kitchen seemed to contract. Kettle hissing, Mum humming off-key, morning continuing as usual—my phone shivered with replies. “lol,” from Dan. Three coffin emojis from Mia, helpful as ever. Then, the one I didn’t want.

“Jay,” came Mr Patel’s message, broom-neat. “Phones permitted if silent. Food prohibited on the coach. Please read line three again before calling anyone ‘draconian’ at breakfast.”

I stared. The app had mistaken a smudge for the word it wanted; it had sounded so certain, so official. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry; I started to type an apology, my thumbs clumsy, and wondered how many screenshots were already out there, spreading faster than I could catch them. After all, the internet never really forgets, does it?

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

Option A:

The bell above the door gives a bright tinkle, letting cold air lick across a floor of black-and-white squares. Chrome trim catches the neon and throws it back in small blinks; steam clouds the window, smudged with fingerprints and someone’s quick heart drawn in the mist. The coffee machine hisses and sighs; the jukebox glows like a tiny theatre, its coloured panels humming with promise.

A coin drops with a neat click, and a record arm slides; there’s a soft scratch, then a flood of music that fills the booths. A voice, young and golden, swings round the room, over the clatter of cups and the quick flick of sugar packets. Laughter bubbles like soda. Waitresses in pastel dresses weave between elbows—names stitched in red thread—balancing plates that shine with eggs and toast. The griddle sizzles; onions sweeten the air; a milkshake mixer whirls in a bright, silver blur. Hiss and hum—hiss and hum—beneath the song.

At one table, boys with slicked hair and wide smiles drum fingers, tapping out the beat; their shoes are polished, their jackets smell faintly of rain. Opposite them, a girl with a beehive leans into her straw, lipstick leaving a coral circle on the glass. A couple in the corner share a newspaper; the headline whispers about rockets and countries, but they only laugh, heads tilted, as if time is pausing for them alone.

There are posters of bands on the wall, curling at the edges; there is a sugar shaker that shines, a cracked saucer, a napkin with a doodle of a guitar. The door opens, closes—again, again—and the bell keeps on ringing; the café keeps breathing. There is one constant: the jukebox. It is warm, noisy, ordinary and special; a small world held together by music, by steam, by the steady glow of the jukebox.

Option B:

Rain. The time of small delays; puddles on the pavement, traffic that whispers and grumbles, a grey light that turns the kitchen into a slow picture. On the table, Leah’s phone sat lit up, a cold glow in the warm room; it buzzed with little shivers that felt urgent when they weren’t.

She balanced a slice of toast in one hand and her bag in the other. The bus app flashed two minutes. She pressed the tiny microphone because her fingers were greasy. She spoke slowly, trying to be clear: "I can't make it this morning, I'm so sorry. The bus is stuck. I'll call." The screen answered in neat letters, quicker than she could think. She glanced, saw the box fill, hit send without really reading. The knife clattered into the sink; rain hit the window harder.

By the time she reached the gate, the phone trembled again. A reply: Great! I'll grab us a table. Leah stopped, the strap biting her shoulder. She scrolled back and read what she had sent. I can make it this morning, I'm so sorry. The words glared like a wrong answer. She felt foolish. Autocorrect had caught the can't and snipped it clean away; it had made a promise she could not keep.

Her thumbs flew. "I can't— not can—" The phone flickered; 1%. She tried a call. It rang once, then the screen went black, showing her damp face like a dull mirror. Around her, cars hissed past. She started to run.

As she reached the bus stop, her phone woke, but slowly—update required, dots crawling. She stared at her own reflection, at the rain, at the bus pulling in. Somewhere across town, she imagined Luca checking the time, reading and misunderstanding. One tiny word had slid away, and the whole morning tilted.

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

Option A:

Light spills from the jukebox like sherbet, colouring faces pink and lime. Chrome stools shine; the chequered floor is scuffed from a hundred hurried shoes. The neon sign in the window buzzes and hums like a trapped wasp, it never quite rests. Cups knock together, spoons chime, steam rises in soft clouds that curl under the low ceiling.

Teenagers congregate near the glowing machine, coins warm in their palms. A boy with slick hair clicks the buttons and the needle drops; a bright guitar flickers out, a tune people know. At the counter, a girl in a polka-dot dress swings her feet, the vinyl seat squeaks. The waitress, hair piled high and lacquered, weaves between tables with a tray – coffee, pie, milkshakes that look like marbled glass.

Smells stack up: fried onions, sweet syrup, cigarette smoke, new coffee. The air is busy and sort of glittering. Someone laughs too loud, a salt shaker rattles, the sugar pours in a clean white river. An old man sits by the wall with a newspaper about rockets and a small war far away; he sips and nods, as if the café is keeping time for him.

Outside, scooters cough and move off, rain freckles the window. Inside, the jukebox glows again, it is a little sun that keeps turning. Back and forth, back and forth, waitresses slide plates, hands wave, coins clink. The bell above the door rings, another pair slips in, and the song changes to something slower, softer, almost blue.

Option B:

Morning. The time of alarms and glowing screens; grey light leaking through the blinds. My phone was a small sun in my palm, too bright. While the kettle coughed, I jabbed at the camera, snapped a picture of the mountain of worksheets, the cracked laptop, frozen again. I typed fast: I can’t do this anymore. I’m done. Homework, exams, the endless pinging. Without thinking, I hit post; the little globe icon blinked.

I sent things to my close friends, a safe bubble. The toggle must have slid to Public. The picture uploaded, but the crop was cruel — it cut off the textbooks, left only my blotchy face and the shadows of my room. I locked the door and left for the bus.

By the time I reached the corner, the phone trembled like a nervous animal. Are you okay? Call me now. A message from Mrs Ahmed: Come to my office immediately. The blue ticks were eyes; the dots teased. I tried to edit the post — remove it, explain — but the bus dived under the bridge and the signal died.

At the gates, Leah ran at me and threw her arms round my shoulders so hard my bag swung. “Mia, don’t scare us like that,” she said. “We thought—” She didn’t finish. Over her head I saw the deputy head waiting, hands folded. It was just the laptop, just homework. But the internet had chosen a different story, and it moved faster than I ever could.

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

Option A:

The jukebox glows in the corner, red and chrome, blinking like a tiny city. Songs spill out, tinny and brave, over the chatter. Cups clink, a spoon twirls, someone laughs too loud. The floor is black-and-white linoleum and the lights are bright, almost florescent, they make the sugar jars sparkle. Coffee steams up; the smell is sweet and bitter together with a ribbon of cigarette smoke. A boy in a neat suit taps his foot; a girl in a polka-dot skirt spins.

Behind the counter, a waitress with a beehive hair-do snaps her gum and calls orders. The silver machine hisses like a train, it spits and sighs and then settles. Plates slide and land with a gentle clap. Milkshakes stand thick and pink; my straw squeaks, my teeth ache. The glass is cold. Grease pops in the fryer, pop, pop, pop.

At the back, under neon, two people share a booth and a secret. The light flickers and paints them blue. By the door, the bell jangles each time, letting in a slice of outside—rain on pavement, scooters, a bus groaning. The café breathes out, and in. It is crowded and sometimes clumsy; yet it feels warm. Messy, noisy, alive.

Option B:

Morning. The phone screen lit my face like a small moon. Outside, the bus windows were smeared with rain and fingerprints, and my heart thudded as a banner slid across the top: Tom: we’re done—

I froze. The preview cut off there, mean and short. We’re done? With what. With me? The read receipt under my last text said Seen, 07:42. I bit my lip until it tasted like metal. My thumbs hovered, then I typed fast, clumsy. Wait, what do you mean? I hit send. Autocorrect jumped in, like it always does; Wait, what do you men? Another line, falling like drops.

Tom: with the plan to surprise your mum later. Tom: my signal is awful

So not me. Not us. For a second, the bus seemed to breathe out. But my message was already out there, naked and weird. Then the group chat woke up—pings stacked, tiny fireworks. Liam: men?? lol. Mia: She thinks it’s about them.

I wanted to disappear into the grey seat. The algorithm didn’t care about my dignity. I typed again, slower this time, choosing each word like a careful step, but the dots were still dancing. I didn’t know what was coming next.

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

Option A:

I push open the door, the bell goes ting and the air is warm it sticks to my face. The smell of coffee and sugar and fried bacon sits heavy. Smoke curls like little clouds, the fans dont do much. The juke box glows nean pink and blue, it hums and turns, round and round, round and round.

Cups clink, spoons hit the sides. Alot of people talk loud, laughing. A Beatles song goes yeah yeah yeah. The waitress wears a white apron. Her hair is high like a hive.

Red stools spin a bit, they squeek. The floor is sticky, my shoe peels up, down. Posters hang wonky and ketsup bottles stand in a line. A man in a hat taps the counter, tap tap tap. Theres a small TV in the corner, black and white, it flickers.

I sit and watch. It is busy and bright. It feels alive, like it wont end.

Option B:

Morning. The screen is cold and blue. My phone buzz like a bee on the table, lights blink in dark. I rub my eyes and swipe, i see LEAH: Where r u??

I type fast. On my way, I write. The phone changes it. My thumb hit send because I am late and my bus is outside, roaring like a big dog in rain. I shove the phone in my pocket.

On the bus I look again. No way, it says from me. Two blue ticks, then a angry face. Wow, thanks. Dont bother. My chest drop. I try to fix it. I say sorry into the mic, the phone writes I say story. I type, my fingers shake, I press the wrong arrow and it fly to the group chat.

I want to say it is a misunderstanding but the word looks long and I spell it wrong. Too late.

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

Option A:

The cafe is busy and loud. A big jukebox glows red and blue, it hums and clicks and the song is fast. People talk over each other and laugh, milkshakes in tall glasses slide on a shiny counter. A waitress in a neat dress move quick, her shoes tap tap on the black and white floor. The smell of coffee and fried bacon sit in the air and it is warm. Steam on the window makes shapes I dont know. A boy in a leather jacket leans, he think he is cool. Coins clink, sugar spills. I see crumbs, time feels slow and fast, the room never stops.

Option B:

Morning. The phone buzzed on the table like a bee. I rub my eyes, the screen is bright. I want to tell Mia I am late, I tap the little mic and say it, the phone writes "I hate you". I press send before I look and it goes, my stomach hurts. She reads it, the three dots stop. The kitchen smells like toast and rain on the window, the bus growls outside. I text wait for me but it sends wait for me you, I dont even know why. Its all wrong. She sends a sad face then nothing.