This week, his wife was pictured in the press holding their new-born son.
"I just want Matthew to get in touch," she said, "to let him know how I am, how beautiful our baby is, to find out how he is and hug us closely.
In an hour or two, he's in London's Victoria coach station, longing for a night's sleep.
He chooses the longest journey from the notice board.
Eventually he went home himself." Going missing is not simply a male or a middle-aged issue.
But it is predominantly men who disappear in later life.
"It's all so physical, the yearning for a curry, warmth, a sleep. But the longer he doesn't call home the harder it becomes.
And then, after a while, he starts to think that perhaps they are better off without him." There are similarities between Crewe's fiction and reality. One is reminded of so many suicides, which notes often reveal as an act of benevolence by the dead person, fearful of burdening loved ones with problems.
But the shop doesn't have her favourite flavour and he becomes confused as to whether he should buy her a different brand or try elsewhere.
So he sits down and his mind wanders as he watches cars go by and tries to guess their makes by the shape of the headlights.
It's in the opposite direction of home, but he thinks it better to ring than go straight home.